


A Detective's Guide to the Countryside

by MorganeUK



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Caring John, Caring Mycroft Holmes, Case Fic, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gen, Hospitals, Like episode 3.2 + do not exist, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Minor Original Character(s), Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft's Meddling, Not Canon Compliant, PTSD Sherlock (Mentionned only...), Pining John, Pining John Watson, Pining Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Scars, Serial Killers, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock trying to be considerate, Texting, but its clearly not working!, kisses and love, no Mary Watson, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: A few months after Sherlock returns, John is now living again in 221b. Everything back in place like it was before, even if some uneasiness creeps in sometimes.The Fall and the stunt the detective pulled when he came back - interrupting John when he was going to propose to his girlfriend! - are still sore subjects as well as what actually happened while Sherlock was away.But the pursuit of an elusive serial killer that will take them all around the UK will help him salvage their friendship and maybe find more along the way.





	1. It's a weird case this one

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to notjustmom for the beta-ification, you're the best as always :)
> 
> Sherlock characters are created and owned by the BBC & Conan Doyle and I do not claim any ownership over them.

It was a slow Sunday as John likes them... He was reading the newspaper while drinking his tea, Sherlock was at the kitchen table doing whatever required ammonia, a pound of blades of grass and a pig's kidney... It's been nearly five months since the doctor's return to Baker Street, eight months since Sherlock's return from the dead.   Looking at the sometimes infuriating genius above his newspaper, John was still slightly amazed that his friend was back. Seeing him at their table brings back memories of life at it was before. _But nothing will ever be like it was,_  John thinks a bit sadly.

Thinking back to that night at The Landmark, a wave of indignation replaces his sadness. Of course at first he was... astonished, then paralyzed with anger, then plainly furious! _That bloody bastard! Interrupting me when I was trying to get along with my life and ask Mary for her hand!... Ok, that was probably turned out for the best... but anyway! Showing up like that... without any preparation, it was inconsiderate and flagrant proof that he did not care about others' feeling._

These trails of thoughts often lead him to be insufferable towards Sherlock. When John is bad tempered out of the blue, the detective usually looks at him with a sweet mix of innocence and perplexity with a hint of guilt... But this time, Sherlock was saved from John's cold shoulder by the doorbell! Knowing that Sherlock won't budge from the table, John rises and walks to the door. An apparently frustrated and exhausted Greg enters the flat, before sitting unceremoniously into one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

"Sherlock, mate, I need your help." The DI then turns to John, "... and a pot of tea if it's not a bother."

 "I'm on it, Greg, don't worry... You look exhausted, what's happening?"

Sherlock, put down his pipette and removes his goggles. Looking carefully at the policeman, he speaks slowly. "I think Lestrade is tired because he drove all night... Hum... From the North, Scotland? Yes... Stirling. What's the link to you. Glenn? You're friends with the detective in charge of Michael Carter murder?" 

Both John and Greg gaze at Sherlock in amazement. Even with the years that have passed since the first time they witnessed the detective deduce something, they always react with amazement! Especially when in a setting like this... Relaxed, in the kitchen, without any corpse, or anything 'crime related' around.

"What the hell Sherlock! How can you possibly know where I was!" Greg enquires, his eyes rounds and now fully awake, "And for the thousand times, my name is GREG."

"It wasn't that complicate..." He glares at the DI as if his incomprehension was his fault, "The bags under your eyes clearly indicate a lack of sleep - don't know how you can do everything you should with seven or eight hours of sleep a day, it explains many things though..." Sherlock pauses as if trying to understand how others can live like that, he sighs, giving up on the attempt to understand. "So why did you not sleep last night? It's clearly police work, because even if I am your friend, I don't think you'll think of me first thing in the morning for a personal issue," Greg frowns, not liking the perception Sherlock had of their friendship, but the detective didn't realize and continue, "... I've checked my source this morning and nothing happened in your jurisdiction Saturday evening or last night. So... It's not in London, and the hunched over posture and your general unkempt appearance are the signs of a long drive."

"But, the North? Stirling?" John asks when he gives his tea to Lestrade.

"Geoff's shoes are full of dirt whose colour can only been found near the river Forth... and as nothing interesting occurred in London over the last couple of days, a curious murder took place in Stirling Thursday... Or as Scotland is quite a distance from NSY, I suppose you went up to Scotland to help a friend that works for the Stirling or Forth Valley police?"   

Looking at John with astonishment, Greg slams his now empty cup down on the table.  "You're right, right about everything!" John pours some fresh tea into Greg's cup,."Ta, John. It's a weird case this one, Sherlock... I don't know what to think. My friend from the academy, William Campbell, is a DI for the Forth Valley division. Stirling is one of the police stations under his jurisdiction. He phoned me Friday afternoon because he didn't know what to make of this..." Greg wearily pulls out his mobile and opens a file full of pictures.

"John, could you please get my computer?" Sherlock asks, while an incredulous Greg was thinking _This is new... asking for something? Saying please?_ Once the mobile was connected to the laptop, Lestrade shows the photographs to both men.

"At first, Will was thinking that it was a simple case of a heart condition, or something like that... Look at the pictures! No marks, no violence, no blood... It's clean as if the killer had, I don't know, hypnotized him to death!" He passes his hand through his grey hair, not knowing how to explain the feeling he had when he visited the crime scene.  "It wasn't like when a killer cleans everything, you see? No peculiar odor of disinfectant, nothing was moved... The body was just laying peacefully on the bed. No sign of force entry on the door or the window..." 

"Are you certain that it's a murder?" John asks, as Sherlock remains silent.  He was scrolling through the photos again and again, zooming in on details when needed.

"Yes, the autopsy was quickly done and Will received the preliminary report yesterday. The name is Michael Carter, a tourist from Sheffield. Thirty-five, was in Stirling alone... And then, that! No apparent cause of death, everything is perfect! Heart, lungs, kidneys, EVERYTHING is ok! He was a perfectly healthy man in his thirties."

"Except for the fact that he's dead..." Sherlock points out with a little smile. "This is interesting... I suppose your collaboration with Campbell is off the record?"

Lestrade nods, "Yes, as it is considered a minor case, his superior is confident that they could deal with it in Forth Valley. The man does not even want his team to contact Edinburgh for help!"

"What can we do for you, Lestrade, if you can't help, I presume that a NSY consultant can't either..."

"My friend is really curious about this case. It happens in a hotel in Stirling, at the height of tourism season. It's not good for the industry and he feels that they should classify it as a 'natural cause' quickly...  Could you please help him? Discreetly? That means no blog about this one, John... I know that you haven't started writing again yet, but this one is not a good one to start anew!"

John thought about the last case he wrote about on his blog, nearly three years ago...  And about the last entry, The Empty Hearse... How he would like to be able to rewrite it, now that everything was better between them and that he was calmer.  He shudders at the memory of what he wrote down... _'He'd done it to save us but he hadn't trusted us enough to tell us what was really going on. Not sure I'll ever truly forgive him for that'. Worse, the suggestion that he was the one who put me on the bonfire, to be able to saves the day and forced me to forgive him! Oh God, I've called him a psychopath... How could I have put those thoughts online for everyone to see..._

"John? JOHN?" Sherlock was calling the doctor who was lost in his mind somewhere, "Are you able to get off tomorrow? We could leave for Stirling within the next hour and return before Monday evening?" More softly he adds, "Only if you want to come of course..."

Snapping out of his reflective mindset, John replies firmly,  "Yes, I will. With pleasure."

"Great," Sherlock says, "Let's go play the tourists!"

 

Less than an hour later, they were in a nearly empty First Class car in the express train to Glasgow. Sherlock, was still studying the photographs and the autopsy report and wasn't talking that much, leaving John alone with his novel. He was reading the same page for the third time when he receives a text alert.  

  

Thanks again John! I own you a pint :-) or two :-) or three!  - GL

 

Laughing silently at his screen, the doctor closes his book. Confirming that Sherlock wasn't in need of something for the case, he replies to Greg.

 

Don't worry; it's exciting to be back on a great case.  Sherlock told me that it was definitively a 6 or a 7! - JW

He does love a locked-room mystery! - GL

Yes. LOL - JW

(...) - GL

Is everything fine between you two? - GL 

(...) Of course, why would you say that? - JW

I was feeling tension this morning... - GL

And Sherlock is unusually polite... - GL

 

Looking at his friend, John reflects about the last few hours. He knows that he was tense when Greg surprised them, the travels down memory lane often do that to him... Even if he's still working with his therapist.  But Sherlock? Unusually polite? _It's true that he says please, thank you and tends to ask more instead of just assuming that it was ok for me._  

 

Is it a bad thing? To be polite? - JW

I don't know... you tell me? It's just not a Sherlockian attitude and it's troubling me :-) (...) He's probably just more mature that he was ... before. - GL

Yeah, maybe - JW

Let's talk about other things! Are you seeing anyone, doctor playboy? - GL

Ah ah no, I don't have the time anymore. With the job at the surgery, the cases and day-to-day life handling Sherlock I can't! - JW

Do you have news of Mary? - GL

(...) Sorry I don't want to be all gossipy! - GL

No it's ok... I think she understands why I didn't go thru with the proposal and maybe one day we will be together again, who knows? Possibly at least friends - JW

And why didn't you go through with it? You had the bloody ring! - GL

Shit, sorry again... - GL

It's just that... I worry about you sometimes. Both of you. - GL

I know, Greg, don't worry, it's ok. I understand people are curious.  - JW

It's just that... (...) when I met Mary (...) I was so lost and she gave me back my life. When Sherlock returned, I was suddenly questioning my self.  (...) Am I with her only because I was lost or it was our destiny, Sherlock or not?  You know what I mean?  I don't want to marry her because she helps me; I wanted to be certain that I marry her because I love her. - JW

(...) And you are no longer certain of that? - GL

You are pretty alert for someone who drove all night. Shouldn't you be asleep? - JW

Okay, okay... Anyway. We will talk when you get back over pints and darts?- GL

It's a date, mate - JW

Let me know if the git finds something. Good luck - GL

I will, bye - JW

 

After his conversation with Greg, John falls asleep while Sherlock continues to check whatever he was checking on his computer.  A few hours later, the train came to a halt at Glasgow Central. Sherlock rents a car and they get on the road for the 45 minutes drive to Stirling where DI William Campbell was waiting for them.


	2. Stirling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are leaving town for a one-night trip to Stirling!  
> 
> Stirling, the beautiful little city in the middle of the Stirlingshire, near the river Forth... The bridge, the Wallace Monument, the Old city, the Castle... A murder! 
> 
> Or is it really a murder?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to notjustmom for the beta-ification, you're the best as always :)

"What a nice place to go! I always loved Stirling!" John was feeling good to be out of London.  _The change of scenery and the appeal of a good case can only be a positive turning point in the renewal of their relationship._   _Friendship,_ John corrects himself. He turns to look at Sherlock with a childish grin. "Have you ever been to Stirling Castle? It's a real fairytale castle!"  

The detective shrugs, and emits a non-committal sound. "Maybe, we spent many summers touring villages and castles when I was a kid.  I don't remember any of the specifics. Grey stone, kings, queens... Boring."

John laughs, trying to put a smile on the detective lips, "Yeah... but it's also dramas, thieves, murders, kidnapping!" 

Sherlock raises his brows quizzically, "What's the point if I can't look at clues and forensics evidence?"  

"You won't bring me down today! I am just happy to be out of London's heat wave!" He watches as the little town was growing near.  "Where do we meet DI Campbell?"

"At the crime scene, a hotel on St.John Street. The room has not been cleaned yet but will be this afternoon... so it's our last chance." Sherlock was driving with confidence in the meanders of little streets until he stops in front of a small hotel.

 

Campbell was already there, waiting under the portico. He was a man in his late forties, with a solid stance. He quickly presents himself and offers good strong handshakes to both of them.  "Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson... I am so grateful for your help and the chance of working with you... I have always admired your work and..." He pauses and looks uneasy for a second, "Not that I am happy that a man lost his life, of course!" 

"We will do our best to help. Could we please go to the room now, Mr. Campbell?" Sherlock asks with his usual brusque tone.  _But the add on of 'could' and 'please' was a nice addition_  John remarks inwardly thinking about Greg's comment _._

"Yes, of course... follow me gentleman, follow me..." The stout man opens the front door and goes up the stairs. On the third floor, a room was closed by police tape. Campbell gives gloves to Sherlock and John and puts on a pair himself.  Then he opens the door.

It was unbelievably... clean. The clean-up team won't have a lot to do except sanitizing the room. Letting Sherlock go first, John and Campbell stayed in the corridor.  The DI was looking at the detective with great attention, fascinated by the dance the tall man was doing all over the room.  He looks carefully at the door, inside and outside, at the window... Scrutinizes the side of the bed where the corpse was as well as the carpet around it. John was observing as well, he always admired the cat like attitude Sherlock takes on when he's on a crime scene.  His eyes, his hands, his legs, everything is more mobile, more graceful... The transport subordinates itself to the case.  _He's acting purposefully and beautifully... What! Where does that come from?_ Clearing his voice, John asks, "Found anything useful?"

"No... Which is by consequence a 'yes'.  It was done very professionally, very austerely. It's not a crime of passion... it was organized up to the very last detail." Sherlock rises from the floor where he had sprawled to look under the bed and looks at Campbell. "Can we go to the morgue now?" Lestrade had probably warned his friend to be wary of Sherlock, to watch for the beginnings of tantrums or moods, for as the policeman closes the door, and replaces the crime scene tape, he lets out a barely noticeable sigh of relief, as they quietly exit the building as if no one had been there.

 

After a 10 minutes drive, they arrived at the hospital morgue. After a quick chat with the guardian, who was the cousin of a cousin of Campbell, the three men were able to access the body. John, as a reflex, takes the report that was attached to the gutter and starts reading. "Michael Carter, white male, age 35, from Sheffield. Died July 20th 2017, Estimated time of death 21h30. " He scans the report quickly, "Nothing special in any of the internal organs..." He turns pages quickly. "Cause of death: hearth attack." He looks at the body with a curious gaze. "Heart attack... but, you don't die of a cardiac problem like that. Nothing in his medical history and, besides the damage cause by the actual attack, the heart is in perfect shape! I don't understand!" He turns towards Sherlock to give him the report and realizes that the detective was looking at him with an unreadable smile. "Sherlock? What?"  

"Nothing... It's just that sometimes I suddenly realized how precious it is have you with me." He smiles and takes the report from John's hand, looking for data. "Hum... It's like an anaphylaxis choc but without the preliminary symptoms."  _But it's not right. No peculiar allergy. Nothing special. How infuriating... But quite interesting._

"Sherlock?" John was standing near the corpse. "Am I crazy, or are these puncture marks?" 

The detective took his magnifier and looks carefully where the doctor was pointing, "Yes... I think you're right John!"  _Oh brilliant, brilliant man!_

"When you talked about anaphylaxis, I thought about a criminal usage of an Epipen or something like that but I wasn't able to find the characteristic marks that it leaves behind.  So I looked for smaller needle marks and found those..." He turns to Sherlock, "Do you think it's related?"

"If it's possible to have a sample of the blood and tissue, Campbell, I would like to check something..." Sherlock asks the DI.

"I will check what I can do and let you know tomorrow morning, where are you staying tonight?" 

After looking at his phone, the doctor replies, "At the Walace B&B."

"I know it! Great little place. I will contact you tomorrow morning." The policeman walks with them to the parking and leaves them to go settle in the B&B while he will try to pull few strings to get a sample of the victim blood and tissue. 

 

The B&B was a small family business with a nice rating. Not wanting to get into the same confusion as when they where in Baskerville, John had specifically asked for 2 rooms... The innkeeper was, gratefully!,  able to do so as a family of four cancelled their trips at the last moment.  John, as usual, took care of the inevitable chit-chat at the front desk, while Sherlock was working on his phone. Once they get the keys, they went up to their rooms. 

"Sherlock?" They were now in front of their rooms, "do you want the double bed or the 2 singles?" John asks.

"I'm not really planning on sleeping, take the double, you'll be more comfortable." Following this, Sherlock opens the room with 2 singles and closes the door. 

"What the hell?" John opens his own door, tired of the event of the day and not wanting to ponder even more about his friend's attitude, he eats the sandwich they picked up on their way, takes a long bath and goes to sleep.

 

On the morning, after a good night of sleep - for John at least! - they were in the breakfast room where John was eating a gigantic full-English breakfast while Sherlock was drinking tea and eating a single piece of toast with honey. He was still looking preoccupied, lost in his thoughts.  As he was now in better shape than last night, and therefore more patient, John tries to talk to him as he wishes to know what was this all about. After he finishes his plate, he asks, "Did you slept at all last night?"

"Hum?"

"Last night, did you manage to shut down a bit or have you been working all night long?" The doctor repeats.

"I think I've slept few hours between 2AM and 5AM, I'm not sure. Why?" He puts down his cup and looks at John, "You know I don't really need to sleep why I'm on a case, why do you ask?"

"I was just making conversation..." He sighs, "Since yesterday morning you didn't really talk to me. Have I done something that I am not aware of?" 

"Don't be an idiot John, you know why I am leaving you alone." Sherlock was now looking back to his phone with an annoyed attitude.

"I am an idiot then, because I don't know!" John refills their cups with fresh tea, "Come on and say it. You are not usually that shy about hurting my sentiments!" He jokes.

Sherlock raises his head and stare at John with eyes full of...  _is it pain? Sadness? No... It can't be!_ As he was to ask the detective again what is wrong with him, Campbell enters the small room.

"Hey! Good morning to both of you!" He sits near Sherlock, glancing at him with a respectful yet fearful look. "I've got a gift for you Mr. Holmes!" and he puts a little box on the middle of the table. Inside was a small medical case fills with ice and a vial of blood as well as different tissue samples.

The tall man pats his hand cordially on the policeman shoulder, "This is great, Campbell! Wonderful! I think we have everything we need now to find, not who killed the man but at least how he died!" Taking the box from the table, he puts it in his bag. "It's still preliminary Campbell, I'll need the analysis first, but I am 99% certain that this is a murder. I will have confirmation tonight."

"If we can prove that's a proper murder, it will be something that I can work with! And they won't be able to close this as a natural cause!" He looks at Sherlock with amazement.

"I won't disclose more at the moment as I need to verify something else before..." He falls back in his thoughts. "Yeah... I will probably talk to you tonight about the confirmation of a criminal intent and maybe more, but I can't say much for now."

"Thanks for your help Mr. Holmes, and you Doctor Watson! It's a strange case and I don't want that poor man's murderer to stay unpunished! What can I do today to help?"

"If it's possible without causing you prejudice towards your superior, will you visit the places where he went, the restaurant, the attractions... And try to sketch an exact schedule of his day. Could you do that?"

"Yes, of course Mr. Holmes. I'm on it, right away!"  He rises from his chair and extends his hand to John and Sherlock. "Have a nice trip back, we will talk tonight about our mutual discoveries." And he left in a hurry, happy that the Londoner detective gives him a mission!

 

Once the bill was paid, Sherlock drives them back to Glasgow. It was a silent drive... The detective was thinking about the case... and the doctor was thinking about the detective.  _I'll talk to him on the train,_ John thought, _I don't want to upset him when he's at the well. That look he gave me at the breakfast table... And what about 'Don't be an idiot John, you know why I am leaving you alone'... Am I missing something?_

They left the car at the location company near the railway station.  "Back home, then. I'm taking our Glasgow-London tickets right away..." John was pulling his phone from his pocket and was already opening the app.  

"Wait! Only one ticket... You'll only need one ticket, John." Sherlock words stop the doctor right in the middle of his transaction. The detective was writing on a piece of paper that he puts inside the sample box.

"Hum... Why?"  _What does he talking about? It's virtually impossible to find something new here! There is no reason to be away from Baker Street, any longer._

With a determined tone, the detective simply states, "Go back to London John, you're working early tomorrow morning, I need to go to Bath as soon as possible."  Giving the box with the sample to the doctor, he requests, "One thing, if it's possible, could you please give this to Molly? My instructions are inside... She will be waiting at the railway station for it." 

And, abandoning John in the middle of the station, he walks toward the express shuttle to Glasgow Airport where the next one hour direct flight to Bath was leaving in 50 minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stirling Castle is really impressive! It is absolutely worth a visit if you are in the aera!


	3. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abandoned by Sherlock in the middle of Stirling railway station, John doesn't know what to think anymore... 
> 
> Sherlock rushes to Bath where he must verify something that could help with the current investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to notjustmom for the beta-ification, you're the best as always :)

The doctor was paralyzed as he watches his friend leaving.  He loudly calls his name once, but the git never stops.    Not knowing what to do, _Sherlock clearly does not want my company,_ John checks the train schedule. The next train home was leaving  in 10 minutes; he could be in London around 18h15. Plenty of time for him to relax before his shift, tomorrow morning...  He turns towards the door where Sherlock left, estimating if he can runs fast enough to catch Sherlock's shuttle but the vibration of his phone interrupts his thoughts.

I've informed Molly that you'll be arriving on the 18h15 train. - SH

Defeated, John walks until he reaches the platform. Once in his seat, he reaches for his phone to text Greg.

Hi Greg, just to let you know I'm going back to London, should be home around 19h. Fancy a drink? - JW

You? Not we? Where's Sherlock? - GL

Did he choose to remain in Scotland for the case? I spoke to Campbell for a few minutes last night and he explained what you found so far. Puncture marks? That's weird... - GL

No, he had to go to Bath for some reason - JW

Okay? - GL

And didn't tell you why? That's weird. - GL

Isit? Since when has Sherlock ever explained something he does not want to? - JW

I don't know what to say... He usually wants to drag you everywhere , whether you want to go or not. - GL

Before, maybe - JW 

Yeah, maybe... Anyway for now relax, enjoy the scenery. Call me when you're in London! Only one pint, I'm old and it's Monday lol - GL

YOU are! :-) Ta, I will. - JW

John was putting his phone back in his pocket when he receives a message. _Sherlock!_

I can't write for long, the stewardess is looking at me with severe eyes. Or maybe she's flirting, I never know. (...) Don't wander naked out of the bathroom. - SH 

What? - JW 

My brother took the opportunity of an empty flat to put new cameras and do a thorough search of everything.  I hope they haven't touched my sock index this time! - SH

I hate your brother sometimes... - JW 

Take a number - SH 

Why are you going to Bath? Talk to me! - JW 

She's looking at me with a strange look again. The steward, on the other hand just gave me his phone number. I really don't understand how people can be so unprofessional. I presume I'll be the first to be saved if we crash, that's a relief. Got to shut down my phone, she was definitively angry and not flirting. (...) Don't drink too much with Glenn tonight. - SH   

_How the hell does he always know!_ John sighs looking at his phone. Without a clue about why Sherlock had to go to Bath, _and what was is bloody problem!_ , the doctor tries to relax and not worry. _Maybe Greg or Molly will make something of it._

  


After making a big show of putting his phone on flight mode, Sherlock took out his laptop.  Since Lestrade's visit yesterday, something has been bugging him until last night, when he finally remembered! He knows that he read about something similar recently. A death without violence, no apparent cause, one person in a hotel room...  After rummaging his Mind Palace and the police database he finally found it around 2h in the morning! Bath! It was the woman in Bath!  

He opens the summary of the report that he downloads the night before.

  * Name: Maggie Berkson

  * Age: 63

  * Last address: 99 Church Street, Manchester, M4 1PW

  * Day/time of death: Saturday July 1st 2017, around 21h45

  * Location: Austen B&B, Brock Street, Bath.

  * Cause: Heart attack (Unknown reason)

  * Autopsy: Internal organs are as expected in a women in her sixties. The heart was damaged by the attack but without any previous condition. 




No sign of intrusion in the room, the body lays on the bed as if sleeping... Like in Stirling's case, the police wanted to close the case as a natural cause. Weird maybe... but understandable. He needs to check the complete autopsy report and ALL the high-resolution pictures! Being nearly a celebrity in the forensic close knit world has its perks and he already has a contact that will wait for him at the police station for a meeting with the local ME and a visit of the crime scene if needed. Of course, the room has been cleaned thoroughly since, but having a sense of the space is important to be able to imagine what may have happened.

He closes his computer. _Nothing to do now... Just waiting for what I will find in Bath, waiting for lab results from Molly, hoping that I will get my hands on blood sample and tissues for that woman, then waiting for these results... They shouldn't have cremated the body! God I hate when people are stupid! It was clearly not right! Nobody dies just like... like that! We are not living in a afternoon TV show!_

An image of John and him watching crappy TV pops in his mind and he smiles. _I hope John has a great time with Glenn tonight, I know when he needs a time off from us... from me. _ He remembers yesterday morning, he had sensed the shift in John's mood. The mindset he falls into when he thinks about his faked death and his long absence. _He probably also still hates me for the way I interrupted him with, was what her name... Mary? Good riddance, she wasn't good enough for him. She loves cats and she was a liar... Yes it was good that I gave him space. Don't know why he made such of fuss about it!_ _ _

The plane landed without incident, Sherlock went quickly to get a car and drives to the Avon & Somerset Constabulary, only a few kilometers away from the Bristol Airport. His contact, Sergeant Samuel Brown, was waiting for him with the ME that took care of the autopsies for the region. After a few niceties, _I am able to talk to people and do not need John for that!_ , they sit at a conference table with all the data they need.   The pictures, some of them printed, some of them rightly available on a tablet, was the main concern of Sherlock for now. 

"What are you looking for Mr. Holmes?" The sergeant asks.

"We need to analyze all those pictures... we are looking for 2 smalls puncture marks, close together," He shows them a picture of the marks on Carter's body. "Similar to these."

They start to flip through the photographs while Sherlock reads the full autopsy report. "Doctor, have you found anything strange, beside the evidently too healthy heart for having an heart attack?" He asks the ME.

"Nothing really, Mr. Holmes. Her face was calm, not showing pain or violence or any kind. We've got some pictures that were taking on the crime scene..." He flips the images on the table until he founds the one he was looking for, "You can see, the scene is peaceful... No sign of distress, nothing thrown away or broken. A serene slumber..."

It was exactly the same set-up of the man in Stirling! Right side of the bed, fully clothed, arms positioned beside the body... "What about the hotel?" Sherlock asks, his mind running a thousand kilometers an hour.

The sergeant consults his notes, "Good place, has never been the scene of any criminal activities... Clients are usually really satisfied. One of the top hotels in Bath to be honest." He pauses, looking rapidly at his annotations to be certain that he didn't forget something. "That's about all, Mr. Holmes. Do you want to go there when we are finished here?" 

"I don't think it's really useful for now. If you want, you can leave me in this room, I will check the photographs myself," the detective replies. Looking at the ME he add, "Do you still have in your possession some samples? I need all that you may have..." The doctor nods and leaves the room to go retrieve them from his laboratory. "Sergeant, could you please go to the hotel and track the exact itinerary that the woman followed, the places where she went... you know the drill."

"Yes I will right away. The others have been warned to let you do your thing; the conference room is all yours.  Coffee is down the all at your right, phone me if you need anything." Then he walks out the room.

Alone with the hundred or so pictures, Sherlock took the first one and his magnifier. He sighs. _Two needles in a photographed haystack... _

_ _

Getting off the train at King's Cross, John was looking for Molly. He spots her, reading a book on a bench. "Molly!"

"Oh John! How are you?  Did you have a nice trip?" She smiles, knowing for sure that the doctor was upset at Sherlock's behaviour. _Those idiots...   Maybe they should try to talk one day!   "_ Do you have the samples?" 

"It was ok. Yes, got it!" He removes the box from his bag and gives it to Molly, "Sherlock, as he is not HERE, left some instructions for you inside the box."

"Yes, perfect. I know exactly what he wants. It's a long test... I won't have the result before tomorrow morning." _Should I ask? Should I shut-up? Urggggg._ "John... Are you alright?" 

"Yes, yes, never been better." He throws her a false smile to emphasize his lie. "Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing, really, it's just that I know you and I am certain that Sherlock leaving you like this has probably... I don't know, hurt you?" Molly was looking at John, her eyes full of empathy.

"Of course I am pissed! We travel to Scotland, he didn't talk to me AT ALL, then he left me in a railway station to go on his own little adventure!" He breaths heavily, "He LEFT me behind voluntarily Molly." His voice nearly broke... "He promises me that... and..."

Softly, Molly put her hand on John's arm, "You know that it's only for a day or two. He's coming back, nothing is going to happen." She pauses. "Are you working tomorrow?"

"Yes, the 8AM shift..." _Shit. _

"So... you see. It's better for you to be there, you have a job to do! You can't go on a whim to take a bath in putrid water!" She laughs at the idea of Sherlock drinking the horribly tasted water at the famous Bath Pump Room.

A slight smile spreads on John lips. "Yeah, I know I'm being irrational. He's not in an unknown country doing what ever, he's in Bristol or Bath probably annoying someone else."  _And not thinking about me! God I'm a wretch!_ Not wanting to pass for a lovesick puppy, he grins and declares, "I'm going out with Greg  tonight!"

"Great! I will let you to it and head back to Bart’s for the analysis."  She gives him a quick hug and left with the precious box in her small, capable hands.

 

Three hours later, Sherlock was still analyzing each picture thoroughly. _This is tedious. Please let me find something before the thousandth pictures!_ He reaches for the next picture in the manila file and... _Oh oh oh what do we have here!_ There it was, two little holes, an inch apart or so. He notes the number of the image and texts the ME for an electronic copy.   Once he received it, he opens it on his computer and without any doubt, Sherlock deduces with a 99% certainty that they were now dealing with a serial murderer. At that moment, the ME enters the room with the tissue and blood samples in a insulated box. _Great!_ After he thanks the doctor for the samples and the pictures, he texts his instructions to the sergeant and gets into his car for the 2 hours drive to London. If the traffic isn't too bad he should be able to catch Molly at Bart's as she will probably be working late on Stirling's samples. 

 

John was now at the pub with Greg, with a pint in front of them and sandwiches, as they both had skipped dinner. Looking at his friend with an analytic gaze, Greg attacks promptly.

"What's going on, John?" At John's confused look, he rolls his eyes. "A pub? On a Monday night? When we both work tomorrow morning?" After a moment he continues, "... Not that I mind, but why? Is everything all right?" 

"Why does everyone always suppose...?" He sights and drinks his beer. "I don't know what to do Greg. I'm trying to get back to  what we had before but... I think it's impossible." The defeated look on John's face was heartbreaking.

"Come on, mate, of course it's impossible!" The doctor glares at the DI with surprise. "What? I don't believe in bloody miracles... It's NEVER possible to get back to what a situation was before for one simple reason."

"... What reason?"

"People. Change." Satisfied of his philosophical statement, Greg holds his pint up as a mock salute to himself.

"I'm not an idiot, I know that people change." John mumbles.

"You can't seriously expect things to be as before... Running after criminals, eating takes away and annoying the creep out of everyone at NSY! Even if..." He laughs. After few minutes of silence, he goes on with his explanation, "The so-called death of Sherlock changed you. You discovered things about yourself... don't look at me like that, John! I am a bloody DI! You mourned for Sherlock as if he was a brother, a... lover.  THIS is changing the game."

"Always about me! He's the one who changed everything by faking his death and leaving me alone to deal with... all this." John voice was slightly louder, his frustration growing.

"Woah... mate... I know that it was cruel for him to do so but I am now convinced that it was the only possibility.  I was mad about it for a few weeks, but overall I am happy that he's back.  I wasn't THAT surprised, in the back of my mind it was always a possibility." Greg tone was calm as he tries to bring John back from the edge.

Calmer, the doctor replies, "I AM HAPPY! I am... ecstatic. Sometimes at night, his violin wakes me and, instead of being annoyed, I am suddenly just so damn happy that he's in 221b, making noise in the middle of the night." He smiles melancholically, "... And don't talk like you have any idea about my... sentiment..." His eyes drop on his pint, "It's too late anyway."

"It's never to late when it's real, you know..." Lestrade put his hand on John shoulder.

Laughing, John pushes his friend hand, "Since when you are a bloody counselor Greg? Stop that, it's unsettling!" 

"I deal with a bunch of kids everyday in my division, I have learned a trick or two!"

"He was aloof with me yesterday and this morning. He clearly does not want my company right now."

"Did something happen before I barged into Baker Street at breakfast hour? I told you yesterday that I felt a... I don't know... a tension in the room."

Thinking about Sunday morning, John visualized Sherlock at the table while he was reading his newspaper... The images of his friend falling from Bart's roof, his return and suddenly he realizes something. "Oh." He looks at Greg, "Before you arrived, I was thinking about... what happened over the last few years. I can't help it, when everything is perfect, like it was yesterday morning, the fear of losing everything again, the time I wasted on the useless grieving, the way he is clueless about the pain he caused me..." He shifts on the stool, uneasy. "When I am in this mindset I can be hard on Sherlock. Out of the blue, without explaining him why I am cross." His shoulders fall, "The diversion you've cause with your case, pushed away those negative thoughts, so thanks for that, and I was able to work with Sherlock without biting his head off!" He laughs sadly.

"But maybe, just maybe, Sherlock realizes... And decided to give you some space, to not annoy you further if you were looking like you wanted to knock him down!"

"I haven't touch him since that first night!" John protests.

"I know mate, I know... But just talk to him, would you? Talk to him, listen to him. For your sakes and everyone surrounding you." Greg was looking at John seriously but kindly.

"I will..."

  

Sherlock arrives at Bart's around midnight. _God, what a day! I could, nearly, sleep right now!_ As expected Molly was there, monitoring the analysis of Stirling's samples. 

The detective walks in the lab and shout, "Molly!" The poor woman nearly falls of her stool!

"Sherlock! Don't shout, I am right here!" She looks severely at the man she was now considered a real friend, "You know that it wasn't nice what you did to John! Leaving him like that, alone."

"He went to Afghanistan, don't worry, I think he can deal with Scotland!" He puts his night-bag on a table and opens it to get the sample box from Bath.

"Ohhhhh this is why you went to Bath?" Molly took the box from Sherlock's hands.

"Yes, and to look at the pictures from an autopsy as the body was cremated." He was still infuriated by the fact that they decided to quickly incinerate the body of a suspicious death...

"Want me to run the same test?" After Sherlock nods, Molly puts the sample in different machines and presses some buttons while the detective watches with great attention.

"How long do you reckon?" He asks, looking at the time.

 "6 or 7 hours..." She yawns.

Sherlock smiles softly at his friend, "Go home and get some sleep, I will call you when everything is done."

"No, I'll stay. I am deadly curious now! I'll crash on the couch in my office, wake me up when the big red light become green..." And she leaves him alone in the lab.

Lost in his thoughts, the detective put his head on the metal table. The machines were nearby and he had a clear view of the screen with the constant flow of numbers... And the big red light...

  

Around 8 o'clock in the morning, after a sleepless night for Sherlock, the light finally turns green! "Molly! MOLLY!"

"What?... Oh! The results are in!" She runs to the machine, enters her codes to allow the report to print on a nearby printer. Papers in hand, she reads them while she walks back to Sherlock.

"Oh. My. God!" She utters as the detective snatches the sheets of paper from her hands.  He read quickly then looks at Molly with a triumphant smile. 

"I was right... Calcium Gluconate and potassium phosphate!" He was trying hard to restrain his natural impulse to jump around in the room! _I am a grown man, I am a grown man..._

"It's horrible, Sherlock! It's murder! Both of them!"

With a big predatory smile, Sherlock shook his head and corrected her. "Better...  it's a serial killer!"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The crime was in Bath but we didn't really go to Bath :-)
> 
> It's a lovely city if you have the chance!


	4. Hasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have a long overdue discussion... (Not everything is discussed but they must start somewhere...)
> 
> And, anyone wants to go to the seaside? Murder included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to notjustmom for the beta-ification, you're the best as always :)

Sherlock opens the door of 221b around 10 am, grateful to finally being home. _Home is where the heart is... Ugggg, where did that come from! It's sentimental enough to be on a bloody Hallmark cards!_ He drops his bag in his bedroom. Knowing that John was at the surgery, he was certain to have some time to put his thoughts together. _I need to contact Campbell and Brown to let them know what we found._

He puts the kettle on before going in the bathroom for an overdue shower. Fifteen minutes later, he was feeling alive again. He walks out to find John at the kitchen table. More specifically a clearly furious John.

"John? Shouldn't you been at the surgery?" Sherlock asks calmly.

"I've decided to take an afternoon shift instead." The doctor replies, clearly trying to keep his anger in check. He walks to the counter to prepare the tea. As he gets two mugs and tea bags, he asks with a false light tone "So... everything worked out as you wished yesterday?"

"Yes... I can say that." Sherlock thoughts turn to the documents in his bag and how he needs to rapidly check things online. _I do not have the time to deal with John's drama right now!_ Not knowing what to say, he adds "Thanks again for meeting Molly yesterday, it was really useful." _Praising is good, no?_

"Nothing a courier couldn't have done, but hey, who am I to know what's useful or not!" John mumbles to himself.

"What?" Sherlock didn't hear properly. "Did you say something?"

"No, nothing of importance." He sits down and pushes a mug toward Sherlock.

"Thanks, John... It's been a long night." The detective was restless. Not wanting to irk the doctor more but wanting to work on the case. _It's a serial killer! I think I have the right to not deal with John's attitude at the moment!_ He rises to get his computer and the many documents he gathered in the last 2 days and places everything on the dinner table. "Do you mind? I have a lot of..."

"Why did you act like that in Stirling? Why do you go to Bath alone?" John coldly interrupts his friend before he became engrossed by his work and therefore unreachable.

"What? I didn't do anything in Stirling? I was polite, efficient, not a show-off... I can't see what I may have done wrong!" Sherlock protests. "And for Bath, you were supposed to work early this morning, I didn't know if it was possible to wrap up my research to allow you to be here in time, that's all."

"You didn't consult me! I am old enough to decide if I may or not skip work. I thought I was clear when I came back to 221b. You. Are. Not. Going. On. A. Case. Alone." John's face was white as the idea of what could have happened passes through his mind.

"John... don't overthink this, please? I was only meeting a sergeant about a case they closed last week. I went to the police station, had a little chat with them, searched through evidence, then drove back to London." _Unbelievable! I am not a child!_ He starts to spread the documents on the table and opens his computer.

His friend was looking at him speechless. _Bloody bastard!_ "Maybe! But I wasn't aware of it! For all I knew, you could have been chasing a gang of killers in Bath!"

"Don't be daft John, it's clearly the work of only one person." He shrugs his shoulder at John's silliness.

John pushes his chair and knocks his fist on the table screaming loudly "THAT IS NOT THE POINT!".

Sherlock flinches at the outburst but his phone rings at the same moment, distracting him from his distress. He brings it to his hear... "No, everything is fine... Yes... I will... Stop fussing... Yeah, I know... Yes, I will..." then he ended the call.

"Mycroft?" A shaken John asks.

"Yes..."

"I, I, I'm sorry Sherlock. I shouldn't have..." He falls back on his chair. "You don't understand do you?" He asks, his voice so low that the detective barely recognizes his words.

"Am I missing something John? I really have the feeling that we are not on the same page..." He closes his laptop and look at his friend, his attention for once solely on him.

"I can't go back to the life I had a year ago... I wouldn't be able to go through this again, for real this time." The doctor murmurs, tears in his eyes. "I know it's ridiculous, but I want to be there to protect you if needed... I don't want to worry if you don't come home, thinking that you've been stabbed in a back alley or that you are unconscious and floating in the Thames..."

Sherlock reaches out for his friend, "John, you can't always be there... This is impossible. You have to go to work, and even if I prefer to have you with me, I can interview people or search for evidence alone. Geof is never far and Mycroft always knows where I am." He took John's hand, "Don't worry over nothing... I will never intentionally cause you distress. I made you that promise when you came back to Baker Street and I will respect it." He adds solemnly.

"Explain me then why you left me before going cavorting in Bath!" John wasn't buying Sherlock's promise, not when yesterday was the proof that it was bollocks!

"Because I seriously thought that I wasn't in a dangerous situation and that in no way should it have caused you any concern!" After a pause, he adds, "But I have misjudged the situation and I am... sorry. I should have explain why I was going there... Sometimes I forget that you are not in my head." 

"And what about yout attitude? You didn't engage conversation with me on the road, kept the communicating door between our rooms closed instead of bursting in my room to talk about the case, about OUR finds..." _We weren't a team._

"Oh that... I was only doing what you needed at that moment. Your growing exasperation and annoyance with me was clearly readable in your behaviour Sunday morning, before Lestrade arrived.  As I don't know which words to use or what to do to show you how sorry I am about... what happened... I was only giving you the peace of not having to deal with me, as I was so abhorrent to you at that moment."

John looks at Sherlock, his eyes full of unexpressed feelings. "You... You were acting like that FOR me?"

"Of course, why else? You know how I love to talk to you and have your input when we are on a case. Except when I'm on my Mind Palace, of course..." _But even there, Mind Palace John is always with me,_ Sherlock thought _._ "It was in fact pretty hard to keep my mouth shut!" He was nearly looking proud of himself.

The doctor sighs noisily, looking at his friend with incredulity. _Off course he saw the patterns in my action and decides to do something about it._ "Sometimes, I forget that you can observe nearly anything."

"Nearly?" Sherlock shrugs. "I don't think anyone can hide something if I decide to pay attention..."

"Always, then, sorry, not 'Nearly'" John decides it was better to not push Sherlock towards more deduction of his attitude. _Life is already too complicated as is..._

Quietly, not wanting to force anything on John, the detective tentatively asks, "Are you feeling better now? I... It's true that I don't know what to say anymore.  But know that I am truly sorry and I will never leave you behind again." He waits a few minutes, wondering if he should push the matter further and decides to joke instead, "You know I've heard that the crime rates at TESCO was going up! I don't think it's safe to..."

"You are sooo going to fetch the milk and the grocery alone for the next month, don't even try." John was now smiling back.

Sherlock inquires hopefully, "We're good then?"

"Yeah we're good, for now. But don't ever put a stunt like that on me again!" He looks at the files on the table then at his watch, "I've got a few hours left before work, do you want to talk about Campbell’s case?"

"Cases!" Sherlock exults, "We found ourselves a nice little serial killer!"

 

In the following hours, Sherlock explains his finds as well as Campbell's and Brown's.  He shows his friend Molly's toxicology reports on both batch of samples...

"Calcium Gluconate and potassium phosphate?" John read.

"Yes, nearly the perfect crime..." At John's curious gaze, he explains, "An injection of calcium gluconate disrupts the levels of sodium, potassium and chloride in the cells... Causing the heart to slow until it stops."

The doctor objects, "But it can't be that! It would take too long; the victim didn't have the time to react! The heart attack was strong and unexpected. And the body were clean, without a rash or blemish that are caused by calcium gluconate poisoning!"

"John... the potassium phosphate! Combine the two and you've got a new element that creates an aggregate anaphylaxis! One small difficulty... the poison must be..."

"Kept in two separate syringes, therefore two punctures!" He looks at Sherlock with amazement, "How do you discover that?"

"It's a joint effort John, I thought about the anaphylaxis symptoms and you found the two punctures marks..."

"And now?" The doctor looks at Sherlock and the papers on the table. "We've go a real serial killer on our hands..." Sherlock smiles, excited by the game. Still reading the report, John murmurs "Shit! The woman in Bath, she had 3 children... This is so sad." The detective's grin drops. _Right, bit not good_. "Have you contacted Campbell and, what is name? The man in charge of Bath's investigation?"

"Brown. No, I will in few minutes. And Lestrade also, as it's no longer simply a local investigation, NSY will probably be in charge of coordination or something."

"I'll let you do that, got to go to work." John rises from his chair, put his cup down in the sink and goes up to his room to get dressed.

 

As soon as John leaves the front room, Sherlock's thoughts went back to the case... He emails his finds and a copy of the toxicity report to everyone. He specifically asks Campbell and Brown to get a copy of the detailed schedule of what the victims have done during their stay. _There's something that I am missing..._ Lost in his mind, he barely acknowledges John as he leaves for work. _I need data!_ He was still looking at the pictures and files on the table not knowing what he was looking for when Lestrade enters the flat.

"A bloody serial killer!"

"Graham! What are you doing here? I'm trying to work..." Sherlock quickly dismisses the man. _Is it something in the pasts of the victims? A place where they went or where they worked?_

"Don't be a spoil sport Sherlock..." Choosing not to comment on his name, "I'm the one who gave you a serial killer on a silver platter!" He walks in the kitchen; "I'm having a cup of tea if you don't mind!" And he sits at the kitchen table sensing the detective's exasperation. "What's wrong? Everything is ok?"

"Yes, except that I'm working and I don't want to be disturbed!" _God! Do I need to kill people to have enough tranquility to track a killer!_

Sipping his tea, Lestrade smiles at the man. "Do you need help with someth..."

"I NEED PEACE!"

With a mock scared look, Greg replies "Ohhhh, you need peace! You are particularly... emotional today." He pause, then continues with a small grin "Have you talked with John?"

"Yes, we talked this morning as he decided to change his shift for an afternoon one, why?" _I don't see how John can be responsible for the fact that I am frustrated because HE won't let me be alone!_

"And he said... Nothing special?" The policeman asks with innocent eyes. 

"He gave me shit because I left him to go to Bath if that's what you want to know..." _Maybe the number of the hotel room his a code... Or the actual address..._

Knowing that he won't be able to make Sherlock utter a word he doesn't want to, he left the man to his puzzle to go to NSY. _I will see if I can find similar cases elsewhere..._

 

Finally alone, Sherlock put his papers in order and organised his Mind Palace as more information was coming in. Brown and Campbell had both done superb jobs of tracing all the places where the victims visited during their sojourns. Later, he received a document with all the jobs, schools and others places of significance that the man and the woman have visited since their birth.  He moves everything from the table to the living room wall. But it was to no avail... No link. No link whatsoever! Not the same fields of work, not the same school, not the same church, not the same trip at the same moment...

 

When John returns from his shift, Sherlock was still at work. He didn't stop, didn't eat... Leaving his friend alone few minutes more, he orders take-out and waits for the delivery before going near the taller man. "Sherlock," the doctor says softly. "Dinner is here... you must eat something."

"No - I can't! I still know nothing!" Sarcastically, he points at the mess on the kitchen table and the wall, "I know everything that they DON'T have in common, but nothing on why these two people were the target!"

"Sometimes answers come when we don't think too much..." Sherlock looks at him with a 'are you serious?' gaze, "I'm not joking... and you need to sleep tonight. You can't stay awake for a third night!"

Disgusted by his inadequacy to find something, the detective sits with John in the living room to eat a little. Later, after John tricks Sherlock into having a drink or two, the exhaustion finally took its toll on the detective and he falls asleep on the sofa. The doctor sighs happily at the sight and puts a comforter on his friend before going to his own room for a good night of sleep... or not!

 

The detective was in the middle of a troubled sleep, full of images from his time away, when his phone rings and startles him. _Lestrade._

"Greg! What is it!" _Shit, hard to keep up the pretense when you are surprise in the middle of a dream._

"Another one!" Lestrade shouts,  "I spread the word about the method of our killer and the Hastings police station just called me... A man has been found an hour ago, in his forties, hotel room impeccable, no apparent cause of death. The body is still in place but they can't wait too long. How quick can you..."

"JOHNNNNNNNNN!"

 

They were there in less than 1 hour,  courtesy of Mycroft's helicopter. John, who explained the situation to his boss and took a day off, was now admiring the view of Hastings from the sky. The ruins of the castle over the hill as well as the magnificent cliffs were amazing from the air. Turning toward Sherlock to point him in direction of the castle, he stops as the eyes of his friend were glued on the report in his hands. An image of a little Sherlock dressed as a pirate running in Hastings smugglers' cave brings a smile to his face.  _Anyway, what did he said at Stirling? Grey stone, kings, queens... Boring..._

The sergeant in charge of the investigation, Maxwell, was waiting at the heliport to drive them to the crime scene. Again, it was a nice small hotel where nothing of the sort ever happened. Sherlock enters the room with reverence, knowing that the killer was there not many hours ago. His work was perfect... not one shred of evidence. Not one fingerprint or hair. The body was resting exactly like the other two.

_Impersonal, clean, no passion... It's not a murder, it's weeding!_

Sherlock and John waited for the result of the preliminary autopsy, knowing already that it would be a heart attack without specific cause. The doctor was looking at his friend cautiously, sensing that he was near an outburst of impatience. "Relax, we are going to stop the killer."

"And how I am supposed to do that?" He was walking to the door when the ME finally returned with his result.

"Heart attack, on a otherwise healthy heart..." He gives a box to Sherlock, "Here are the samples you asked for, Mr. Holmes."

Turning away from the man, the detective walks outside and calls a cab. _No need to bother Mycroft as I have nowhere to rush to!_

 

In the taxi that takes them to the small railway station, the detective types furiously on his phone. Once at their destination, he gets out of the car and closes the door strongly to let go a bit of his frustration.

"Bad day?" The cabby asks John.

The doctor, who of course paid for the ride, murmurs, "You've no idea..."

"Good luck on the train, mate!" The man laughs.

John walks faster to reach Sherlock, the precious sample box in hands. They were right on time for the next train... _At last we won't stay in bloody Hastings longer then needed!_ John thinks. All fond memories of day trips to the beach, the castle and the wonderful smuggler's cave in his youth are replaced by that awfully frustrating day! 

They get on the train where John pushes Sherlock into an empty car.  _No need for others to suffer Sherlock's attitude!_

"Why! WHY! There's something I'm missing! These murders must have a link between them, it can't be random!" The detective finally falls into his seat, muttering to himself.

He stays silent for the 2 hours ride back to London, deep in the rooms of his Mind Palace... Looking for non-existent clues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hasting is a wonderful seaside little town in the south (East Sussex).
> 
> A little bit Broadchurch like :)


	5. Windsor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are still trying to adjust... John is finding it harder to hide his feelings.
> 
> A common denominator is found between the crime scenes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to notjustmom for the beta-ification, you're the best as always :)

It was late when they finally return to Baker Street as they went to Bart's to meet Molly who will run tests to confirm that it was the same cause of death of the other two. They left the machines do their work and hailed another taxi. 

Sherlock, once in the flat, went directly to the living room wall to add the name of the last victim, Noel Simpson. Suddenly, he writes 'London' on a post-it and put it on the middle of the evidence. Then he switches the papers around in a sort of geographical location. Stirling at the top, Bath in the left below London and Hasting in line with the city but far below. He was muttering to himself as he had dates as well as the number of days for each crime. "First one, day one, Bath.  July 1st. A Saturday.... Second one, day 19, Stirling. July 20th. A Thursday... Last one, day 24, Hastings. July 25th. A Tuesday..." 

The heat was terrible, as the windows had been closed all day. Quickly, John opens them all, bringing a soft wind inside. He looks at Sherlock who was hypnotized by the data spread before his eyes... His eyes follow Sherlock as he moves things around, a slight smile on his lips. Because of the heat, the detective had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Sighing silently, the doctor was unable to remove his gaze from his friend's elegant movements. For once he was able to stare at him without him realizing it and he was revealing on the occasion! _Oh God... Greg was right... I am in trouble... I can go on like that..._ Looking at Sherlock he realized that, with all his contortions, his shirt was starting to ruck up out of his trousers. Without being able to focus his mind elsewhere, the doctor was nearly gaping as a strip of creamy skin was slowly...

The high possibility of John making a fool of him self was interrupted by Sherlock's phone. "You know you can text, it's the little yellow icon on your phone..." While he listens, he suddenly puts his hand below his back and tucks his shirt back in then, as he walks to his bedroom, quietly replies to whomever was on the phone, "Don't be stupid... No I don't want to..." He enters his bedroom and returns a few minutes later in pajama pants and an old t-shirt with his blue silk dressing gown. Not looking at John, he went back to his position in front of the wall.

"What was that?" John asks; even if he knows he will probably don't get a straight answer.

"A phone call, John, this is what happen when a phone rings and someone replies." Sherlock replies with a flourish of his hands.

 _Oh... You want to play that game._ "WHO was on the phone?" _And why do you have your bloody dressing gown on when it's over 28c in the flat! _

"Nothing to concern yourself about... 'Not about the case... Hum... I'm trying to find a 'basecamp' for our killer and I can't." He went to get his laptop and checked train schedules. "I'm missing something obvious, I've got the feeling..." He throws himself in his chair, hands in his traditional steepled position and leaves John virtually alone to disappear into his Mind Palace. With the added bonus that he won't have to answer John's question. _What can I say? Don't worry, it's only Mycroft? He remarked that my shirt was becoming untucked from my trousers and informed me that 'If you don't want to talk about what happened, brother mine, you better put a dressing gown on!'   I don't know why my brother is obstinate about me telling John about... Serbia and everything. I don't need to be pitied, especially by John._ His mind at rest with his decision, he turns his thoughts towards the case. 

Leaving Sherlock sulking in his Mind Palace, John prepares for the night,  as he has a double-shift tomorrow, and retreats upstairs to his room. But, even with the eventful day, the sleep wasn't coming. He keeps turning from side to side. The images of Sherlock constantly bringing back his conversation with Greg and the fear that someday he won't be able to hide his sentiment for his too cunning friend. _But is it bad if he does find out? Who knows maybe..._ The idea that the detective may share the same feeling was overwhelming but completely impossible.   _He never had a date with a man or a woman that I know of. He's married to his work... And what was that sudden shyness when he realized that his shirt was moving out of his trousers! He's always walking in the flat in a bloody sheet!_   _'He used to'_ , John corrects his thoughts... Thinking back on the last months, the doctor realizes that he never saw is friend other than fully dressed. _Strange for a man who went 'toga' style to Buckingham Palace! Oh God, I need to sleep and stop thinking about him, it's 2 in the morning! _

As he turns on the other side of the bed, to try to get fresher sheet, a noise gets his attention. Walking to his bedroom door, he opens it slowly... _Moaning... What? It's Sherlock!_ John runs back to his bed to get his gun and walks down the stair as silently and quickly as possible. Opening the door, he was grateful to see that Sherlock was alone and not under attack. He advances towards his friend and realizes that he was having a nightmare.   _He probably fell asleep while he was in his Mind Palace._

 

Sherlock after few fruitless hours in his Mind Palace was now asleep. Unable to shut down, his mind was restless, the door open for nightmares... They were usually separate in three categories.  The first type of dreams brings back the face of all the men and women he heartlessly killed, the horror and guilt quickly poisoning his sleep. The second type is the one that he has to deal with more often. A classic re-enactment of the torture he endured in Serbia. The faces of his torturers, now all dead of course, laughing at him while beating him with pipes, burning him with an iron bar... It hurt so much! But it's not the worst. The last category is the most horrible, it's were his plan didn't work and John is killed in front of Bart's as he's on the pavement faking his own death. Seeing the man he loves being murdered... because of him.

His head, still full of the conversation with his brother, quickly brings back the horror of the torture he received while away. He was trashing and shaking in his chair, unable to calm himself. _It's not real, it's not real.._ . But he was unable to stop and tries to get away from them! But it was impossible with the chains, and the pain, and... "I have nothing to say..." He murmurs feverishly, crying in his sleep. 'No, don't... please... please... please..." 

Shaken by the view of his friend pleading, John tries to wake him softly. "Sherlock, come on... wake up, I'm here." He puts his hand on his arm carefully, but his friend recoils in his chair, shivering and crying. Not knowing what to do... John hears the ringtone of Sherlock's phone. _Now is not the time..._ But the caller ID was showing Mycroft. _Maybe..._ "Mycroft? I don't know what to do... I... What? You want me to what?" Following Mycroft's instruction he puts the phone on speaker mode and the unusually caring voice of Sherlock's brother fill the room. 

"Listen to me brother dear. Everyone is safe... I will get you out of this. Time to go back to Baker Street, Sherlock... Come with me... He's waiting for you... "  Sherlock's reaction is nearly instantaneous, his slumber becomes less erratic. John takes the phone off speaker and whispers harshly:

"What the fuck, Mycroft!"

"Oh, such a language, Doctor Watson. Good night..."

"Mycroft! What was that, what was he so afraid of! Who's waiting for him? Moriarty? But he's dead!" John was now in the bathroom, door closed so to not disturb Sherlock; he was talking louder and with more authority to his friend's brother. _I need to know!_

"It was a nightmare of course, nothing to alarm yourself with. I don't think Sherlock will appreciate if you talk about this at the breakfast table, it's better to not say a word." 

"I know, I'm not an idiot! What can I do to help him? I've never seen him like that... Nightmare about what?"  John was frantic, the sight of Sherlock in that state of mind... _I must be able to do something! But is it the first time? I never realized..._

"It's true that he doesn't sleep at all usually..." As usual, a Holmes was able to follow his path of thoughts easily... But Mycroft's silence says more than he knows.

"Oh My God. This is why he's so reluctant to go to sleep, even without a case?" _How did I not see it?_   

"Don't worry Doctor, no one is better than an addict to hide something from his _loved one_ ." 

Not wanting to go into Mycroft's use of 'loved one', John simply asks, "What can I do?"

"One day, when everything is calm and there's no argument between the two of you whatsoever. When you are ready... Just ask the question that you never asked him, Doctor Watson."

"A question? What question?"

"What happened when he was away?" Then Mycroft ended the call.

  

When John wakes up in the morning, he is in his chair; Sherlock is still fast asleep in his chair.  Going in the bathroom for a quick shower and a shave, he thought about last night's conversation with Mycroft. _What happened when he was away?_   The question that he never bothered to ask Sherlock was hanging in his mind. He pauses, looking at his reflection in the mirror _.   What kind of man are you John Watson? Your best friend is coming from what we can only called a 2 year case and you don't want to know. You don't ask one single question. You don't think once about the possibility of injuries, kidnapping, and... and other things._ Wiping the tears that were now forming in his eyes, he decided that at the next opportunity he's going to have a talk with Sherlock. And be open to hearing anything. _That's what a real friend does!_

A few minutes later, when he goes out of the bathroom, Sherlock is awake and the kettle is whistling. Examining the pictures of the hotels on the wall, he's trying to see something on each picture with a magnifier.

"Have you found something?" John was now curious.

"Maybe... don't know yet.  They all have that little green logo..." He motions to John to came near him. "Look... I can't read what it is, the image is not clear enough."

After a quick look at the three pictures, John confirms his first idea and smiles. "It's simply a TripAdvisor certificate." _Yeah me! Something that I know... That's what happens when you never bother on making any hotel or restaurant reservation! _

"TripAdvisor?" Sherlock was uncustomary clueless. 

"Come on Sherlock... TripAdvisor... I've got to go, I leave you to that. Do a little research online and you're going to find everything that you need." Fighting the instinct to hug his friend after the horrible dream he had last night, John leaves the flat as quickly as possible.

Opening his laptop, Sherlock searches for TripAdvisor... _Oh that one of those travel website with reviews and so on._   He starts with Bath,   "The Austen B &B and Boutique Hotel".   _5 on 5 reviews... Top 10 in Bath..._ Then he looks for "The Castleview".   Again, it was in the Top 10 in Stirling... He types "Hastings’ Pier Hotel", knowing that the results would be similar. 

_Okay... So all the hotels are top of the league in their respective area._ He already knows by the reports on the victims that they were traveling a lot.   _It is possible that the website is the link that I'm missing?_   He starts to read all the comments on the three hotels, trying to find something that can lead him in a new direction. Because, if the email he received from Lestrade this morning is symptomatic of what has already occurred in Bath, Stirling and Hasting, no one has a clue on the who and why yet.

 

Hours later, he was in the middle of the hundred or so inane comments about how 'lovely the _bloody_ room was' when he feels a presence near him. _Mycroft._  

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock rolls his eyes theatrically, "We talked yesterday, isn't enough for the rest of the week? Is it about the helicopter? If you need a service as payback, you will wait as I'm on something right now!"

"Yes I know, the 'Top of the Crop Hotel Murderer..." Mycroft was playing with his umbrella, not knowing where to start.

"That's nice, it would make a good title if John decides to write again... What do you want Mycroft. If it's about yesterday, I..." 

"Yes OF COURSE, it is about yesterday! You have been back with the man for more than 5 months now... You can't hide yourself in your own flat! He's a doctor and an ex-soldier, he can deal with...  a few scars and PTSD." The last words were nearly audible.

"I DON'T HAVE PTSD!" Sherlock rises from his chair, "Tea?" He offers more calmly.

"Yes please, brother mine, you're too kind." He smirk inwardly, "I had an eventful night."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "I don't want to know..." He adds water in the kettle then turns to his brother. "Seriously, Mycroft, what are you doing here? You won't change my mind you know... I will not reveal to John how I am..." The older Holmes looks at him expectantly, "How I am... damaged goods." The last words were spoken with so much shame that Mycroft had to get up to be near his brother.

"Sherlock, brother dear... Don't talk about you like that. What you've done was remarkable, most of our agents couldn't have done what you did on your own." He pauses, lightly taking his hand, "You haven't been debriefed, you refused all help... You went to John less than 24 hours after being pulled from Serbia. For God sakes Sherlock, you're human, not a machine."

 _No... I am a machine, John told me so 2 years ago..._ More recently, at the breakfast conversation in Stirling, John jokingly said 'You are not usually that shy about hurting my feelings!'. It was still rigging in his ears.   _Even when they talked yesterday, the amazement when I told him that I was trying to give him room to breathe... Like he was bemused that I can think about him! I won't give him proof to tag me as an assassin also. _

Not liking the expression on his brother's face, Mycroft calls his brother kindly "Sherlock, don't let your mind take you back to the dark places... It's your time to shine now. You always said that Doctor Watson helps you to see the light, too sentimental for my taste... but it has a certain truth to it."

"Go away Mycroft!" _I need to think. _

_   _ _ _

Once more alone, Sherlock went back to work. The evening came without him realizing and John was back from work. With threats and cajoling the doctor was able to get his friend to eat something and to go to bed.  But John, now aware of Sherlock nightmares, was reluctant to leave the living room. As he was evaluating the possibility of sleeping on the sofa, his phone _pinged_ . It was a text from Mycroft. 

Go upstairs to sleep, I will look upon him. I will exceptionally turn on the camera in his bedroom, it's extremely sensitive. MH

This is above creepy, even for you Mycroft! (...) I will keep my phone near, call me if something happens. JW

I will. Good night Doctor Watson. MH

  

The night was calm and Friday was also an uneventful day. John was at the surgery for a 7 hour shift while Sherlock was scanning the Internet and sending emails to the different policemen in charge of the case.   

Then, in the middle of the night, Saturday morning around 3AM, Lestrade calls. Sherlock was instantly awake. "WHERE!"

"Windsor... I'm coming to pick you up in half an hour."    

Sherlock runs to John's room, then stops right in front of his door and waits. Then knocks softly. "John?". A disheveled John opens the door looking at Sherlock with eyes full of sleep but alert.

"What? Another one?" Sherlock heart stops: John is adorable with bed hair, sleepy eyes, his deep voice heavy from the hours of sleep... _Oh God, right now is not the right time for... this._

"Humm... Yeah. Lestrade. If you want me... If you want to come with me. Half-an-hour..." Then he turns to go back downstairs. 

"Sherlock, wait... Where?" John asks loudly as his friend was going down the stairs.

"WINDSOR!"

  

When Lestrade parks his car in front of 221 Baker Street thirty minutes later, John and Sherlock are already waiting outside. The detective sits in the front to discuss the case with the DI.  John, in the back, was listening to the conversation while emailing his boss explaining yet another change in his schedule.  He was really supportive since he moved back with Sherlock... and John was 99% certain that a certain Mycroft Holmes was responsible for that. But, it was ok... As the work they are doing for the police is not remunerated, it was a matter for the government official to equilibrate things. Looking at Sherlock, he thinks about the shock of having him appear at his bedroom door! _He was bloody gorgeous, in pajamas, chocolate curls all over the place and his multicolored eyes shining with the excitement of the chase.  And the slip of 'If you want me...' Oh God yes!_ He chides himself. _Now is not the time! Think about the victim, you're a doctor for God sakes!_

It was only a fifty minute drive, so they arrive  before the dawn on the little street where the "Alexandra Gardens Hotel" was located. The local police team was still there, putting security in place and searching for evidence. Lestrade went to talk to the supervisor as Sherlock and John walked to the entrance of the hotel. Spotting the TripAdvisor awards on the door, Sherlock points it to his friend with a smile. _At least, we know a little something..._ _   _

Greg runs to stop Sherlock and murmurs, "They are still working in the room... be nice would you?"

"I am always nice!" The detective mutters. "I don't know why my character is always on trial when the people who are calling me names or insulting me are bloody perfect!" John exchanges a smile with Greg. _This is going to be fun!_

In front of the room, a policeman was guarding the door.

"Could you please let us inside the room..." Sherlock asks, looking at Greg with a satisfied gaze. _Ha! You see, I can be polite!_

With a severe tone, the policeman replies, "Who are you? I am not supposed to let anyone enter the room as long as the sergeant is in there." 

"We are here to help with the investigation, DI Lestrade, who is coordinating the effort, is with us..." Still cool, the tall man was restraining his self to towered over the small officer.  

"No."

"No?" Sherlock composure finally gave way... "Congratulations, you are the first idiot I've met today!  Are you by any chance related to Philip Anderson!"  

"What?" The policeman asks, confused by what seemed to be an insult.

"LESTRADE! Talk to that... man!"

Laughing, Lestrade walks over to the man, shows his badge, and with a stern but even, "Open the door, constable," the man, looking at Sherlock with hate, finally opens the door.

The sergeant rises her head and, recognizing the trio, gave way gladly.  "If you can find something go ahead Mr. Holmes... I've been there for nearly an hour and I found nothing!" She was exhausted. _All this work for nothing!_ "DI Lestrade, the ME office is waiting your OK to remove the corpse. They know that they must check the heart and take samples."

"Thank you sergeant," he looks at the body... a young woman this time. "Did you discover her identity?"

 "Yes, her wallet was on the table and we talked to the hotel receptionist. Her name is Mélissa Cartier, from Montréal."

Sherlock sighs profoundly, another layer... How can a woman from Québec have any links with the other three. He passes the next hour looking everywhere but wasn't able, as expected, to find anything.  The body was finally removed for the autopsy. 

 

While he was waiting for Lestrade, Sherlock decides to speak to the receptionist. Her eyes were red and puffy... Faking his best congenial smile, the detective walks to the desk.

"Excuse me miss..."

She raises her head and, seeing the beautiful man in front of her, she bravely puts a smile on her face. "... Yes, sir, can I help you?"

Talking low and softly, like if he was exchanging a secret, Sherlock tries to start a conversation about the victim, "It's soooo sad what happen to this poor woman! She  was so beautiful!"

With a small hiccup, the impressionable hotel employee replies, "Yes, and she was so nice... She likes, liked to travel all around Europe to visit castles and such as they don't have them in Canada."  

"Did she meets someone here or she was really alone? It's kind of strange to travel alone don't you think?"

"Oh no... she was truly alone here but she was always so friendly to everyone!" The young woman protested.

"She seems to have been really sweet!" Sherlock smiles again, trying to put warmth in his eyes. If the seductive gaze that the receptionist gives him is an indication, it works wonderfully.

"But you know," She laughs a little, "She had a devilish side..."

"Oh... A sweet girl like her? I can't believe it!" The detective was leaning more on the desk, inching a bit closer.

"Yes... she told me that she's always honest in her evaluations and that she always says the truth even if it hurts and that she was enjoying it very much!" 

"Evaluation?" _What the hell is she talking about!_  

"On TripAvisor, sir, on TripAdvisor! Her alias is MelMtlQC if I remember... I've read some of her critiques... Ohhhh they are juicy!"

  

Walking back to Lestrade and John, Sherlock was thinking about what he just learn.  _Is it only this woman or all four victims active on the web site? It can be the start of a pattern... Or not._

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't realise that a black silhouette was watching him from afar, a gun in hand... 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Windsor is a very beautiful city with, of course!, Windsor Castle! You can also take a nice waterboat balad on the river... Really nice!


	6. Edinburgh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the 4th victim, Sherlock tries desperately to find something to prevent the next murder and catch the killer! But it's too late!
> 
> In Edimburgh, more is waiting for them than just another victim... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to notjustmom for the beta-ification, you're the best as always :)

"4 victims! It's been nearly 48 hours since that French Canadian girl. And we have NOTHING!" Sherlock was fuming, a defeated Lestrade not knowing what to say was sitting on the sofa, a coffee in hand. John was sleeping upstairs, as he must cover an early shift Monday morning.

The results from both Hastings and Windsor samples were identical: Calcium gluconate and potassium phosphate that caused heart failure.  Melissa Cartier's itinerary was sitting on the table but nothing stood out particularly. They were all travelling in the UK, in cities were tourism is an important industry. They visited great restaurants, cultural activities, historical landmarks... Nothing out of the ordinary.   _Why can't people just stay at home!_  

Sherlock thought about that comment the receptionist in Windsor made... something about Cartier being sassy and fierce in her critiques  _What was her alias?... Yes, MelMtlQC!_

Sitting at his desk with John's computer, the detective goes to the TripAdvisor site and looks at her profile. A picture of Mélissa, smiling in front of whatever castle, was readily available.  _People are so stupid... Using an alias but putting her real face out there... No wonder she ended up dead_. Then he reads the comments she left under this alias. Hotels, restaurants, historical places... ' _It was great!', 'Wonderful dinner!', 'Outstanding service!'... Boring, boring, boring!_ He scans the pages rapidly until he finds her negative reviews.  _Okay... Here we go. 'The worst restaurant experience ever!', 'I do not recommend at all!', 'This place should be closed... It's a health hazard!'._ Going back to the few last critiques she left in Windsor, he saw the one she left on her first night at the Alexandra Gardens Hotel.  _Her review after her first night: 'Happy to have one more night to spend here!_ _Traveler type: Solo..._ "Come on people!"

"What?" Lestrade looks at Sherlock with a questioning gaze.

"You're still there? I didn't realize... You should read the girl's profile.  A real picture, a critique of the hotel where she was actually staying the next night and, as it wasn't enough!, she stipulates that it's great for traveling solo..." He sighs, shaking his head, "Garry, when did people  become complete idiots? Next time, she could also put a copy of her credit card in her profile... Oh wait, she won't because she is DEAD!"

"Sherlock, don't talk like that about that poor girl. She came here to have fun and... Just imagine her poor parents." Lestrade was reading over the detective's shoulder...  _It's true that it's an open door to any psychopath!_

Leaving John's computer to Lestrade, he opens his own and they start working... 

 

Three hours later, around 2AM, the wall was finally getting new data. They found the accounts of the other three victims. Michael Carter, alias  _Sheffield1982_... Maggie Berkson, alias  _TheTravellingNurse_... Noel Simpson, alias  _SimpsonN_UK_. All had left comments on their hotel  _before_  leaving the place and all had the tendency of being bluntly honest when something is not perfect.

Surveying the web of information on the wall, the DI asks "But... Do you suggest that the killer knows where his victims are because they clearly left a comment confirming that they were traveling alone and are staying for at least one more night in the hotel..." He scratch the shadow of his beard, "We still don't know HOW he chose them... why those cities, why those hotels..."

"I know it's thin, but it's the only lead that we have for now... This serial killer is a clever one."  _It's not even funny, they're is nothing for me to work on..._

Still trying to find something, Lestrade suggests,"It can be a concurrent hotelier that is jealous because those hotels have top notch rating. Or he doesn't like those particular people because they sometimes left harsh comments..."

"Do we know if they critiqued the same establishment? It can be years apart..." They both turn to their computers and sigh, the night is far from over.

In the morning, when John enters the living room, both men were asleep on their respective computers, lightly snoring. With a small laugh, the doctor quietly went to the bathroom to prepare for work and later left the flat silently, leaving the DI and the detective still asleep.

 

 "Ahem..." Mycroft was trying to wake up them up _. It's 10AM for God sakes!_ He peaks at the form of DI Lestrade, one of his arms nearly touching the carpet while the other one was under his head, acting as a pillow.  _Poor man, he's going to be sore... A man of his... Anyway, that's enough._  He knocks on the floor noisily with his umbrella. "AHEM!"

 "What! Oh... Mycroft! I mean... Mr. Holmes.  The other Mr. Holmes..."  _Oh God Greg, just shut up!_ He gives a small kick to the detective under the desk."SHERLOCK! Your brother is here!"  _Your sassy and mysterious brother to be exact._

"Hum... What? What are you doing here!" He combs his curls with his hands, which worsen the situation "Are we really doing that, regular visits, tea and so on?"

"I've got something for your... for your little case. Someone - whose name is not relevant - triangulates a list of deleted business account on TripAdvisor, that are unavailable on the public web site, that have negative comments by your four savvy travelers."

Sherlock rises from his chair, suddenly fully awake. "And?"

"We've got one place." Mycroft gives his brother a manila file with a smug smile.

Sherlock, not opening the file, inquires calmly "And what do I own you for this..."

"Mother's birthday next Sunday. You're coming, behave and sign the card." After Sherlock brusquely nods, "You've got the name of a business, now you can do your... magic! Have fun little brother." He pauses, before leaving, "DI Lestrade, do you want a lift to your flat?"

"Uh... Yeah, yes. Thanks. Sherlock, mate, you're ok for now? Send me the name of the company and I will look at what I can find on my side."

"Okay... Yes." But Sherlock mind was already gone as he was reading the file about "The York's Arms".

 

Greg was feeling out of place.   _In a black sedan with chauffeur, close to the impeccable Mycroft Holmes, a man who controls the Government on a higher level thsn the bloody Prime Minister_. He tries to remove the wrinkles in his trousers.  _I must look a fright, I've had the same clothes on my back for nearly two days!_

"Stop fidgeting, DI Lestrade, I am happy to be of service to such an excellent public servant as you."

_If Holmes' genes could be sold in a bottle.._. "It's kind for you to offer me a lift, thank you again."

"My pleasure, DI Lestrade."

"You can call me Greg you know, we've knows each other for years..." He smiles warmly at the uptight politician.

"I will attempt to do so... Gregory" His lips turn in a small coy smile.

And with  that, Greg's sanity vanished.

 

When John came back from the surgery, take out in hand, Sherlock was feverishly typing on his computer. The wall had more post-its and pictures. A new name was standing out.  Coming near the wall, the doctor read out loud "James Arnold... Don't tell me there's another victim!"

"Hum?"

"That new name... James Arnold. Is he a victim?" John repeats.

"Him? No, a suspect!" He turns completely towards his friend, excited to explain their new finds.  _And I was really good today, I haven't sent him a text about all this!_

"Come sit at the table, I've brought dinner. You can explain everything..."  _This is weird, he didn't sent me any text._

 

After Sherlock shows Lestrade, Mycroft and his finds, John was looking at his friend with amazement. "All that because he wanted revenge on the people that brought his restaurant down years ago..."

"Yes, revenge is a really good motivator and stimulates creativity. That thing with the calcium and potassium is really brilliant!"

"Sherlock! He's killed four people so far!"

With a shrug of his shoulders, the detective objects, "Perhaps... but they died quite painlessly and peacefully. You can't deny it, John. From a medical point of view this is a pretty way to die." Not believing what he just heard, the doctor brings the dishes in the kitchen. "Whatttt? Not good?"

"We are hundred kilometres away from not good, Sherlock!" John replies from the sink with an almost involuntary deep sigh. Thinking about the good day his friend had and about his conversation with Mycroft...  _Is this a good time for a conversation? Maybe it's better to wait to the end of the case..._ "What's next?"

Sherlock was back at his computer. "Hum... we are monitoring the account of all the profiles who left zero stars on Arnold's restaurant and we are trying to locate him. He simply vanished in the last year..." 

"Need help? I'm not working until 1 tomorrow... I can stay up late, no problem." John sits at his computer, in front of Sherlock's. "What can I do?"

"I will send you a files with the forty-three profiles... We are checking them to see if they are travelling right now, where and if they are alone."

"43! How bad his restaurant was!"

"Very bad it seems... It was 47 but... you know..." He raises his eyes "Focus first on the profiles where they foolishly used a picture of themselves..."

They work silently for an hour, exchanging info when they found something useful or strange, until John jumps from his chair! "I've got one! Go to the 'Braveheart1297' profile."

Sherlock quickly searches for the alias... "Yes...Lonely man, commented on how wonderful his hotel is... He's been in Edinburgh since yesterday..." He was interrupted by the phone. "It's Lestrade..."

"We've got another one! We must stop that bastard Sherlock!" Lestrade was becoming more and more frustrated!

"Edinburgh?" Sherlock states confidently.

"Yes... but how the hell..."

"We don't have time! Are you coming with us?" Sherlock was putting his things together while speaking to the DI.

"No, I will stay here, we must find and contact all those people, they are in danger!"

"Ok, we should be there within 90 minutes..." And he hung up before calling his brother. He didn't need to say a thing... Mycroft already knew  what was needed.

"A plane is waiting for you at London City Airport, and I will have all the CCTV around the hotel checked for Arnold."

 

One hour later, they were landing in a small airfield near Edinburgh. The crime scene, an hotel in the Old Town, was like the others, a TripAdvisor award winner. The victim's room in "The Miles Hotel" was as spotless as the others... Sherlock couldn't find anything! It was irritating.  _How can that man be so bloody clean with the amount of comments against the cleanliness of his restaurant!_ Knowing who he was looking for, the detective interrogates the hotel staff to check if they saw Arnold. Nobody had seen the man...  _It was_ _maddening!_

The body was now leaving for the ME office. They will, as instructed, look at the heart first and take samples for analysis. Most laboratories are able to find the presence of the poison... But Sherlock trusts Molly above all. 

It was now early in the morning and Sherlock and John were walking in the old streets, looking for a place to have a breakfast while they wait for the autopsy result. John was famished, as usual, and  was walking quickly in front of an absent minded Sherlock. "Come on Sherlock, I know a great place for brunch right after the next..."

They turn on a narrow street and John's world collapses...

 

At first it was the sound. Like an insect flying quickly near his left ear. Everything was silent in the narrow street except that noise. 

Then slivers and dust of rocks spread in the air as something hits an old wall in front of him. 

His muscle memory makes him spin around and pushes his friend down on the pavement... But it was too late, a stunned Sherlock was holding his arm as his fingers became red. John didn't have the time to move his friend to safety before another bullet hits the detective right below the heart, nearly injuring John at the same time. Blood was spreading quickly on the detective white dress shirt.

"Sherlock... No, no, no... You are not dying on me! If you do I swear, I'm gonna kill you!"

The detective laughs softly and murmurs, "Don't kill me, or I will have to come back again from death to protect you from Mycroft..." And he faints, pain exploding in his body.

Not considering the potential for more gunfire, John stays where he is, removes his shirt and uses it to press on his friend's wound while calling 999... "Officer down, officer down! Robertson's Close. Quick... I'm losing him."   _Please God, let him live._  
  
---


	7. Edinburgh (bis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John discovers something about Sherlock... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was on holiday and it was complicated, to say the least!
> 
> Enjoy, let me know your thought about the story so far!

John was prostrated near his friend.  _What's taking so bloody long._.. He scanned the area, but wasn't able to see the sniper. He finally feels for his phone and pulls it out, to speed dial Mycroft on speaker. "Mycroft... it's... it's... Sherlock. I'm with him waiting for an ambulance he's been... shot. I... I... think he's dying."

As usual the man was ahead of him "The best surgeons in the area and I are on our way. Stay strong doctor Watson... CCTV caught the sniper as he left the roof where he was positioned... We are unable to say where he is right now but we are still searching."

As John sighs and ends the call, the ambulance arrives. They swiftly bring Sherlock to the nearest and best hospital in Edinburgh. 

One hour later he was waiting near the operating theatre when an unusually frazzled Mycroft arrives.  "Do you have news, how he is?"

"No, he's still in surgery... God Mycroft... I don't think I can't deal with... I can't do this again..." He drops into a plastic chair, his head in his hands.  Mycroft, having seen how the last 'departure' of his brother affected the doctor, was looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

"We are here for him... John. The best surgeons are with him. He will live, have a bit of faith in him, you know how strong he is. And we will catch the bastard." 

At that moment, one of the surgeons approached them cautiously to bring them news."He's out of danger now... But still unconscious.  Do you want to see him?" As both men get to their feet, he hastens to add, "Sorry... But only one at a time."

Mycroft, looking at John, was clearly aware of who Sherlock wishes to have near him... "Go ahead John... He needs you more than me at this time. And I have a few phone calls to make..."

The detective was lying in a hospital bed, alone in an individual room. Tears appear in the doctor's eyes as he remembers another time where he saw Sherlock unconscious... On the pavement, in front of Bart's... _No he mustn't think about that! Sherlock is alive and he needs me!_  Looking at the chart that was left for him by the surgeon at Mycroft's request, he closes his eyes and sighs. The detective's arm was broken by the impact and was now in a cast. The other bullet had missed his heart by a few centimeters. In short, the git was bloody lucky as usual! He must take it slow for a few weeks, but otherwise, he's fine _.  "_ Get him to rest? Good luck with that!" John thinks aloud, with a bitter laugh.

Once reassured of his friend's condition, John sits in a nearby chair. Looking at the somewhat peaceful man, he finally gets some time think about what happened two hours ago. Who was the sniper? Is it the serial killers? Trying to apply Sherlock's logic, he deduced that it can't be him as the operation mode was totally different! But if it's not... Who is it? His eyes fall again on the sleeping man.  _I can't believe I nearly lost him again._ Before he can consider why Sherlock has become an even more important part of his life, an ICU nurse enters the room.

"Doctor Watson? I'm Nurse McCaff." As John was rising to leave the room, she stops him with a wave of her hand "No, no, you can stay. I'm only here to take down his vital signs and put him in a hospital gown. We don't want him to catch a cold!" Nodding with a grin at Sherlock's torso, "... Or to the younger nurses to faint!" John manages a slight grin and roll of his eyes. "Do you want to help me, Doctor? It would be easier and quicker with another set of hands."

John nodded, knowing that will be considerably more comfortable for him as well to concentrate if he doesn't have to look at the expanse of Sherlock's marble skin! He positioned himself on his right while Nurse McCaff moved to the left side of the bed. At the count of three they lift the slight weight of the tall man.  John hears the nurse babbling about how the young man must learn how to care of himself, he's way too thin... But John wasn't able to utter a word. He was looking at his friend's back, more precisely at the scars scattered over his back...  Hypnotized.  _What the hell?. What the fuck happened when he was away._ _Was no one there to protect him?_ He was furious! Furious at Mycroft, who allowed his younger brother to be tortured, furious at Sherlock who didn't trust him enough to ask John to go with him,  furious about himself because he hasn't been able to gain back Sherlock's trust enough for him to open up about his time... away. Realizing that the nurse was waiting for him to continue, John smiles apologetically "Excuse me, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment..."

"I understand, we were all quite shocked when we turned him on the operating table! I would be furious and sad every time my eyes saw this if it was my friend!" She smiles sympathetically while she puts the hospital gown on Sherlock.  "Here we go! Thank you so much Doctor Watson, I will let you two alone." She leaves the room and nods at Mycroft when she walks past him. 

Alone again with his friend, John took his hand and finally cries, exausted by the emotions... 

 

Mycroft uses his time well. He is in contact with Anthea with instructions on how to analyze the footage around the shooting, speaks to the Edinburgh police department, to make sure that the 'incident' will not be reported anywhere, then breaks the news to their parents... And finally, catches up with DI Lestrade. 

"DI Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes..."

"Weren't you supposed to call me Gregory?... Mycroft." Lestrade replies jokingly.

"This is not a social call, I am sorry to say... Sherlock has been shot this morning by an unknown assailant."

"Oh My God! Is he okay? How's John?"

"My brother is in a stable position. John is unharmed and with him at the moment. My people are checking the footage of the CCTV around the incident and cannot determine where the sniper is at this time."

"Sniper? It's not our killer?" Lestrade asks with surprise. "Who would want to kill Sherlock?"

"You know as well as I that the list is long, Detective Inspector Lestrade." Mycroft snarls in his best imperious diplomatic voice, before remembering himself. "I'm sorry Ins - Gregory... It was not right for me to talk to you in that tone."

A compassionate Lestrade replies softly, "I understand, don't worry. You are currently under stress because, even if you usually have a strange way of showing it, you care for your brother deeply." He pauses, but Mycroft stays silent so he continues. "Can I help you in any way? I'm focusing right now on preventing our serial killers from committing another murder... but if I can do something to help Sherlock and John... Oh My God! John! Is he dealing with everything okay? He must be devastated... Being near the man he..." His tone now charged with exasperation. "For God sakes! The man he loves! Yes. I said it. It feels good, Mycroft, you should try it!" He nervously laughs, not knowing how his comment will be received.

Mycroft laughed softly "I am aware of that don't worry... and I approve." After a few seconds, he adds "Even if I know that it's not for me... I understand that my brother truly loves John Watson even if he's probably not aware himself."

"Why do you say it's not for you? Have you ever met the right woman... or man?" Hundreds of kilometers away, even if Mycroft can't see him (he can't, can he?) Greg feels his cheeks burn as if on fire.  _I can't be flirting with the man while is brother is in the hospital!_

"I must go now Inspector, Doctor Watson is leaving my brother's room." His tone was now abrupt and business like. "I will let you know if we need something." And he hangs up.

_Shit... I really blew it this time!._ Greg thinks to himself as he ends the call and hurls the phone against the wall. _Shit, now I need a new phone! God! That week will never end!_

John was walking purposefully in direction of the elder Holmes.  But before he was able to utter a word, Mycroft raises a hand and simply says "Later Doctor Watson, I would like to see my brother for now." And he left John to enter his brother's room.

"You won't be able to get away from me for long, Mycroft... you own me an explanation!" John mutters.

 

Alone with his younger brother, Mycroft finally let his guard down... "Oh brother mine, what has he done to you!"

An exhausted voice replies softly "I think it's called being shot at... Don't like it all that much." He coughs and closes his eyes tighter, still groggy from the operation. "Do you know why and who?"

"No... we've lost track of him." Mycroft voice was full of controlled anger _. Who dares to attack is little brother in such a cowardly way? When I get my hands on him..._

"What have you done all this time? It's been what? Nearly 3 hours probably?" Sherlock was trying to stay awake but the effects of the anesthesia and the pain killers were pulling him down once more to sleep. "John?"

"He's okay... don't worry. He spent the last hour with you."  _Should I tell him that John knows about the scars... Better not for now_. "Regarding the sniper, we lost track of him but my best men are working on it. We believe it to be unrelated to the serial killer's case."

Sherlock murmurs raggedly, "Of course it's not related... Idiots. You're all useless. But not John. Not.. my idiot. My idiot doctor. My John." And he falls asleep again muttering sweet nothing about John. Mycroft leaves his brother and joins a frantic doctor.

The doctor stalks angrily over to the elder Holmes. "Mycroft! What the hell happened?"

With a perfectly innocent face, Mycroft asks, "What are you talking..."  but he is interrupted by a furious John.

"Don't patronize me! You know exactly what I am talking about. You sent the nurse when I was with Sherlock because you wanted me to see the... the scars. What happened?"

"Let say that the last weeks of his 'trip' were eventful." The politician replies with a tight smile.

"NO BULLSHIT!"

"He will tell you when he's ready... But as you already know about his nightmares I won't insult your intelligence. I think you can put 2 and 2 together."

John puts a hand on the nearest wall for support. "But be needs help... He can't deal with that on his own."

"He isn't on his own, though, is he? Doctor Watson." Mycroft says softly.

"No." After a moment of silence, he adds. "But I left him alone for weeks when he returned because I was so angry... I punched him 2, if not 3 times. He must have physically and psychologically suffered from my reaction!"

Mycroft laughs with a predatory snarl. "Let say that he's the reason why you haven't suddenly disappeared, Doctor." 

Both men glare at each other but resist the desire to argument more, knowing that they now must work together...

 

The following day, Sherlock was ready to go home, and the doctors and nurses were happy to open the door wide! He was transported carefully back to 221b where John would be able to take care of him. 

In the meanwhile, the lab results from the Edinburgh victim arrived. Exactly the same... James Arnold's photo was now in all the police stations and he was being actively searched for, while Lestrade and his team were trying to contact all the remaining potential victims.

Sherlock wasn't able to really help... working on a computer was too difficult for the moment and he was always tired anyway. Boring! 

"John.... I'M BORED!" Sherlock screams from his bed.

"You must relax..." The doctor was talking firmly. "Do you want a novel or Sudoku?

Sherlock sighs theatrically."Do you know if they found something about Arnold? Or the sniper?"

"Sorry, nothing... Don't move. I need to check your wound, it's been 48 hours." John walks toward the bed with his medical kit in his hand.

"There's no need... Mycroft will send a nurse before the end of the day." Sherlock protests, pulling his comforter higher.

"Don't act like a child... " John knows what this was all about! That's enough, his friend won't hide his scars from him anymore. "Is there something that has changed? You used to ask only me to dress your wounds." He was now looking at Sherlock expectantly, with a neutral but open expression.

"I... I... no. Nothing has changed. It's just that it is... it is not fair on you..." 

"Me?" He crosses his arms, a little twinkle in his eyes.  _Go_ _ahead man, I'm not helping you on this!_

"Yes... It's not fair to ask you to be my personal doctor when you are off duty. You need to relax in your free time, not playing doctor for me." The detective was clearly uneasy.

John sits on his bed "Sherlock... are you sure you have nothing to tell me? I'm your friend and I consider you my best friend. If you have ANYTHING to say to me go ahead."

Sherlock frowns and whispers. "...Your best friend?"

"Of course!" The doctor smiles, his eyes on Sherlock.  _How could he not know that!_

With a small defeated voice, the tall man murmurs. "You shouldn't..."

"What?" a worried John asks.

"You shouldn't choose me as your best friend. You deserve better..." Sherlock was now looking the other way.

"Sherlock... look at me please." He took his hand. "Please... love." The last word was barely audible. 

The detective turns his head to face John. "... Love?" This is new.

With a more assertive tone, John repeats, "Yes. Love. Nothing you can say will change that."

"But... Love like... Love?" Sherlock was flabbergasted and at a loss for words.

John laughs lazily, pressing his best friend hand in his. "Yes, love like unconditional love." He looks at Sherlock's mouth intensively. "May I kiss you? Please..." He moves closer, about to press his lips to Sherlock's.

A part of the detective wanted to believe it to be true and he only nods, not wanting to utter a world that may break the moment. John was a few centimeters away from Sherlock's luscious lips when someone knocks at the flat door. 

_Shit. It's better be the bloody Queen!_  John thinks.

_Thanks God!_ Sherlock internally mutters. _I need time to think!_

 

It was Greg. Looking at a flushed John with a smug look, he quickly smothers a satisfied grin into a grimace. "Sorry to disturb you both... but we've got another one."

A loud, "Where?" erupts out of the bedroom.

Lestrade sighs, feeling tired and useless. "Warwick." 


	8. Warwick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade comes to Baker Street but Sherlock is in no position to help with the case...

In the living room, John looks at Lestrade regretfully. "Sorry, mate, Sherlock can't get leave the flat for at least 10 days..."

"10 DAYS!!!!" a furious Sherlock screams from his bed. "You won't keep me in bed for 10 DAYS, you are delusional!"

The image of Sherlock on bed rest for 10 days and the possibilities that it can offer passed quickly in John's mind. Getting a grip, he yells back "A WHOLE WEEK, BARE MINIMUM!"

Greg, smiling at the exchange, replies "Too bad then, I'll go alone. I asked a friend to wait before disturbing anything... They can't wait too long but they gave me a few hours." He manages to put on the best puppy eyes he can before asking "... Maybe you can come with me John... It's only a 2 hour drive, less if I drive full speed with the light on!"

Thinking about the case, then about an injured Sherlock... John shakes his head and speaks as quietly as possible, not wanting Sherlock to listen. "I can't leave him alone, you know how he is... He won't stay calmly in bed and will probably reopen his wounds trying to do something stupid..." But wanting to escape the detective's scrutiny is a lost cause, as usual...

He was muttering from his room "I'm not a bloody child. I know that I should stay in bed. A day or two. Pff... Anyway, it's going to be the same as the other scenes. Nothing. Nothing will be found, no clues, NOTHING! Oh God... All this is useless. The man will be captured on a day because he uses his bloody credit card to buy Chinese in the middle of nowhere! This is ridiculous, this is not even a case now, we know it's him!"

Rolling his eyes thinking about the handsome Drama Queen in the other room, John was distracted by Sherlock babbling by the ping of his phone.

It was Mycroft. _Of course..._

If you want to go, Doctor Watson, I can send a nurse to watch him. MH

And what about the sniper? You are not afraid that he may want to finish the job? JW 

Baker Street is under a constant surveillance by my agents since his return from the hospital.  They send me a report every 10 minutes. MH

You're saying that I should go? JW

Do you really prefer to deal with him as he is right now? Sorry to say that the tender moment you had a few minutes ago is long gone. MH

MYCROFT! JW

Apologies, it was... indelicate. MH

You're right, he is looking to pick a fight now, he's in a right mood. Send a nurse. JW

Please. JW

I will take care of everything, don't worry.  MH

Please convey my regards to DI Lestrade. MH

Watching the last text with a smug, John reads at loud, "Please convey my regards to DI Lestrade.... Is there something you want to talk about, Greg?"

"GAVIN!!! DON'T YOU DARE!!!"

John starts laughing, Sherlock's outburst and Greg's flushed cheeks were really too perfect to resist!

"I'll go with you, suddenly got the feeling that we have a lot of things to talk about..." He winks at Greg, "Give me a few minutes and I'll join you in your car."

A bashful Greg nods before leaving the flat in haste.

 

John's smile disappears, replace by uneasiness at the thought of leaving Sherlock so soon after... _After what? A near kiss, a quasi-love declaration? From me, at least..._   Entering his friend's room, he sits near the man he can't remove from his head, from his heart. Even though he had tried for so long. _God knows I tried!_ He knows that the anger he is still feeling sometimes is mainly caused by this constant war inside him. "I'm leaving with Greg for few hours, Mycroft is sending a nurse... Take those pills, they are long overdue. Don't worry about your security, agents are constantly watching the building." Resisting the will to reach for the detective's hand, he continues."I will get samples for Molly and we will bring back all the pictures we can."

A now sleepy Sherlock only manages to reply with a grunt that may or may not be an approval of the plan.

 

Once alone with Greg in the car, John looks at his friend with a big incredulous smile. "Mycroft Holmes. Really?"

"Oh shut up! You're in no position to give any opinion on the subject!" He turns toward John at the next red light. "I've got the feeling that I interrupted something sooner... Want to give me details?"

"Shut up and drive!"

Greg laughter was quickly joined by John's. The whole situation was beyond ridiculous,!

"But, seriously mate... there's nothing to talk about. We talked about Sherlock, about the case, that's all. I... I... think I would like to know him better but I'm out of his league. Totally." Greg sighs melancholically.

Seriously, Greg was now really looking gloomy, John gives his opinion on the situation "Don't underestimate yourself Greg, if you want to go further don't let that stop you. I know that Mycroft has the deepest respect for you... This, coming from a Holmes, is more important than having money or power."

"You think?" Remembering the last conversation with the politician "I tried to flirt with him and he shut me down pretty quickly..."

"When?" A curious John asks.

"When he called me to warn me about Sherlock being shot." Greg was now somber. _What an idiot!_ "Don't tell me it wasn't the right timing, I know it!"  _And I broke my bloody phone out of frustration!_ Trying to turn back the discussion about John and Sherlock, he teases "And you... John 'Three Continents' slash 'I'm not gay' Watson...  You've something to say in your defense?"

"Got nothing to say really... After we talked at the pub, I took the time to think. About... About my sentiments toward him." He tries to control the level of stress the conversation was giving him but it was hard. He breaths, slowly. "When... he was shot in front of me. On the pavement, blood everywhere... I was so angry! Angry that life is pushing him away from me again. Before... Before I had the possibility to talk to him. To tell Sherlock how I... like... no, love him. To let him go once more not knowing that he is loved." His voice broke, Lestrade put carefully a hand on his shoulder, not leaving his eyes from the road. "Don't worry... it's ok. I've told him this morning that I love him... But we didn't have the time to talk about it."

"Sorry about that, truly."

"It's ok, Sherlock looked panicked. I know him, he will need time to process everything... We'll talk tonight"

"Don't worry, you're made one for each other. It's written somewhere, in the stars, or something!" After a pause, he gives his iPod to John "Choose us some good music or we are going to cry like little girls!"

And they stay silent for the rest of the road, singing along to Greg's favourite seventies groups.

 

As soon as John leaves, Sherlock opens his eyes that were falsely close...  His still fuzzy mind was trying to remember everything that John said before the arrival of Lestrade. _First, John said that I'm his best friend? It can't be, he can choose anyone he wants. Lestrade or Stamford are way better choices than me. After what I have done... The distress I caused him. He really deserved more than a broken man full of nighmares and that can only bring him bad memories._ He winces as he was trying to sit up in his bed and was fighting with the comforter and the pillows. "Where's that bloody nurse!" The effort he made was bringing pearls of sweat on his forehead.  _Oh God, I'm useless... And... What about the fact that he called me 'love'. It can't be... You can't love someone if you don't know everything. There's no such thing as 'unconditional love'. Desire maybe... but love? It's not possible. I don't deserve to be loved._ Tired by the events of the last hour, his wool-gathering puts him back to sleep. 

 

At the crime scene, John and Greg quickly assess, with the forensic team in place, that once again everything was spotless. Gathering copies of the pictures and the samples from Molly were quickly done.  Greg was able to talk to one of the hotel employees, again a top of the crop establishment, that has seen a man that looks like the bankrupted restaurateur.  After a quick meal where both men were carefully avoiding to speak about either of the Holmes brothers, they drive back to London. They were near Stratford-upon-Avon, only 50 kilometers away from Warwick when the DI phone rings. It was the police station: they found James Arnold's vehicle near the hotel! Turning his car around rapidly, with siren and lights on, Greg drives back to Warwick as quickly as possible without killing someone!

 

 _What's that noise, I want to sleep..._ The detective's hand was searching for his phone on the bed table. His phone was ringing, over and over again.  _Where is that damn phone?_ "Johnnnnnn!" _Oh right, he lefts me alone. Am I alone?_ The feeling of a presence in the room compels him to open his eyes. A woman was in the room, all dressed in white. _Oh, the nurse. Finally, someone will take care of these uncooperative pillows._

Turning to the table he looks again for the phone when a sarcastic voice disrupts his search.

"Looking for something, Mr. Holmes?" His phone was in the woman's hand. "Your brother, he tried to reach you so many times... It's so sad you were too drained to reply. It's too late now..."

"I... I know you... I know I saw you... If only I was able to concentrate... I..."

"Sushhhhh, don't worry. Everything will be easier soon." She reaches for her gun. "As soon as I have finished my task." She looks at her watch. _Only 3 minutes before I must leave._

"You won't be able to get out of here... Many agents are close by... and..." _Come on Sherlock, think! Bloody pain killers._

"Too bad you didn't read your brother texts, Mr. Holmes. He was trying to warn you that the guards were... no longer available to protect you." She laughs merrily, thinking how it has been easy to lure in the agents and kill them discreetly.

That laugh brings back the flash of another woman... at the Landmark restaurant...   _Right before I interrupted John's proposal._ _Oh God_. 

"... Mary!" 


	9. Warwick (bis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not realizing the risk for the man he loves...John went to Warwick with Lestrade. 

_Oh God, it's... Mary? Why? I have to distract her, if only for few minutes. Help should be here in 4 or 5 minutes at the most. Think. Think._   "Don't you feel you are pushing the jealous act a little bit too far?" He says... for once slowing his words down, hoping to delay - 

"I'm not stupid Holmes, I know that I have only a few minutes before your brother's goons swarm the room. It's ok, I don't need more than that to put a bullet in your brain..." She pauses, then closes Sherlock's phone before pitching it in a corner of the room. "However... I can take one minute to reply. I wouldn't want you to die thinking I'm just a typical jealous woman because you stole my _dear_ John. Boo fucking hoo." 

The way she pronounces John's name brings nausea to Sherlock, but it was a point for him... _Vanity, the universal reliable pressure point._ "I don't understand..." He stutters. "Why do you want to kill me if it's not to get back... John". 

"Because it's my job to kill you, Sherlock Holmes, and I don't like being paid when a job is not done." The loathing in her voice was nearly dripping from her cold worlds. She went nears the bed and presses heavily on his wound, opening the stitches.

Even as he cries out in pain, Sherlock is able to recognize the passion that Mary was trying to hide. _That's interesting.... Hurting me like that is not giving her anything. Fuck, it hurts. Where's Mycroft for God sakes!_ Calming his breath, he was able to talk again, his voice quieted by the pain. "You are one of Moriarty's snipers." She nods but winces when he pronounces the criminal's name. "And you were with John only to be certain that I was dead..." She nods again, looking at her watch. "That is true dedication, I congratulate you, it's so rare nowadays..." 

"You have only a minute left Holmes. Choose your last words wisely." She moves her gun once again toward the detective's forehead.

Talking like he had all the time in the world, Sherlock continues. "You could have waited until I left Baker Street, you know that I'm not capable of staying still for long." His voice was ragged, the exhaustion creeping back with the throbbing pain. "But you couldn’t wait now that the end was near. I'll say that... you're clearly sentimentally engaged in the process." _Come on Mycroft!_ "So... If it's not for your dear fiancé, for whom, then?" He closes his eyes for a few seconds, trying to put his mind to work. "Oh... I see. If it's not for John... it's for..." He laughs, his smirk ending in a cough, "Moriarty! Oh, this is so good... You were in love with  good old Jim! And a little jealous of the attention he was... giving to me." _This is so funny! If I died because of my bloody brother is late, at least I will have a good laugh before._ "You know he was gay, right? Or if not, he was definitively sapiosexual*...  I'm sorry to say Mary, that you're lacking in both criteria."

"DON'T TALK LIKE THAT!" She was shaking with rage. "YOU KNOW NOTHING!" As she was pulling the trigger, a bullet passing through the window catches her in the arm, the gun falling onto the bed as a second bullet finds a space between her bulletproof vest and her neck, sending her to the floor in a pool of blood.

A minute later, agents were flooding the apartment, closely followed by an outwardly calm Mycroft. "Sorry brother mine, I failed you."

Sherlock murmurs with a smirk. "John's going to kill you... Better eat all the cakes you can before he comes back..." _Ouch, it's bad..._   _I'm getting old, how depressing._ was his last thought before passing out for the second time in a week. 

Looking at his unconscious brother, Mycroft groans. This week will never end... He texts Anthea to get a doctor and an ambulance to 221b as quickly as possible, not liking the blood that leaks from his wound and the sweat that was covering his face. _I think he's right if he dies John will definitiely kill me!  Should I call him right now? Arg... Better to talk to Lestrade!_

Back in Warwick, John and Lestrade reach the forensic team that was working on the presumed serial killer's car.

"Have you found something useful?" Lestrade asks as soon as he was near the squad.

"So far we found 2 sets of prints.  We don't have Arnold so we can't be sure, but it's definitely two individuals. One hand is smaller than the other, probably a woman."  The team leader replies. "We didn't find any chemical products or syringes."

"Any news of where he is right now? He can't be that far?" John was looking around, as if it was possible for the man to simply get back to his car! "Did he just, what, leave his car here for us to find?" _Where is Sherlock when we need him!_ Thinking about the detective brought back the kiss they nearly exchanged but guilt quickly turns his thoughts to 'Sherlock the patient' instead of the image of him as his potential lover. _I hope he's sleeping... He needs to rest..._ As he was lost, his mind floating to Baker Street, he snaps back when he hears Greg swore heavily. Looking at the man who was now standing a little bit away from the car, he walks near him with a quizzical look. 

"Come on Myc... Mr. Holmes... You had ONE job to do! ONE FUCKING JOB!" Greg turns away from John, not wanting to deal with him right now. _He was so pissed!_

Feeling an uncontrolled fear rising inside him, John took his phone and called Sherlock.  He gets the standard cell company message "The user you want to reach is unavailable..." _It's impossible, he NEVER turns off his phone, NEVER..._ Looking at Greg, who was ending his conversation with Mycroft, John became white as a sheet. His broken voice asks, "Is he alive? Greg... I... "

"Oh God John... Yes. YES. He is ok, but his brother is taking him back to a hospital because his wound reopened." As John sits heavily on the edge of the curb, Greg falls beside him.

"Don't tell me, the bastard decided to take a walk, to go out on a case, to experiment with what ever..."

"No. It's not his fault. The sniper... he killed the agents that were protecting Baker Street, in the two minutes before Mycroft realized something was wrong he pressed hard on his wound so it reopened." He looks quickly at his phone as a new text message arrived. "They killed the sniper before he had a chance to finish his job... Mycroft didn't give me more details. 

The doctor was now struggling to keep his composure. _Oh God. He was alone. I left him alone and..._ He puts his head in the crook of his arm, ashamed. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have gone with you." He raises. "I want to go back to London right now. If you need to stay here, I'll get a taxi."

"Don't be stupid, we are done here. I'm not letting you dealing with this alone..." He went to talk to the supervisor who gives him the samples and other data he needs and walks to his car where John was waiting. 

The journey was a silent one, neither of them turning on the music.

 

Sherlock opens his eyes with the feeling of being in a white box. _Is it what it feels like to be dead?_ He turns his gaze to the left where he sees his brother sitting in a nearby chair. _Oh... and I'm in hell._ He laughs with difficulty and his brother raises his head to look at him.  

"Sherlock... Brother mine... How are you fairing?" Mycroft look of concern was feeling genuine and startled the detective.

"You look gloomy... I'm not dying then." The young man smirk.

"Don't say things like that! You know that if I ever lost you it would ... break my heart!"

"But we all know you don't have one... Explain. The last minutes are unclear." He tried to reach for a glass of water, but Mycroft interrupts his movement to get it for him.

He explains, while helping Sherlock drink, what has just happened. "As you know, she was one of Moriarty's snipers. Probably the one in charge of John Watson. I received the message that my men didn't confirm their position, like they were supposed to do every 5 minutes, I sent a team and tried to contact you. But you didn't answer your phone..." He poses the glass. "She was with you for a total of four minutes... You did well, Sherlock. She talked a little bit too much and we had the chance to get there in time."

"Did you... film everything?" The detective was now thinking about John. The idea of his former girlfriend working for Moriarty and that Mycroft and his crew were witnesses to what the proud man will probably see as a humiliation was unbearable.  _One more thing that I screwed up for him... He nearly wed the woman!_

Talking softly, Mycroft tries to distract his brother from what was clearly upsetting him. "She cut the wifi communication with the cameras before entering the flat... But I was able to listen to nearly everything because we've temporarily put in a stand alone camera in your bedroom." He puts the little device on a table. "I'm the only one who saw the footage and this is the only copy." He looks at his brother, waiting for his instructions. As he was silent, he adds, "I can do it if you want? Talk to John. He's already not liking me that much anyway..." Mycroft was trying to smile, but it didn't reach his worried eyes.

Sherlock sighs dolorously, "Don't say anything, for now, My, I will talk to John..." then he falls asleep.

 

Less than 90 minutes after they left Warwick, probably a new record!, Greg stops his car in front of a nondescript building. Looking at his phone he said, "This is the address Mycroft gave me."

"Yeah, it looks like something that he would do..." John opens the door.  Less than a minute later, Anthea joins them to brings them to Sherlock.  "Is he okay?" John inquires anxiously.

"I can't say much Doctor Watson, sorry." After a pause, she continues for John's ears only, "He's fine... he's sleeping. Don't worry."

Able to breathe calmly for the first time in nearly 2 hours, John smiles at the woman, knowing that even if she said nearly nothing she was going to have a heated discussion with her boss if he finds out. Once near the room, she left them with Mycroft.

Looking at John with weary eyes, Mycroft was nervous and he didn't like that. Lestrade's reaction at the news was still echoing in his head. _You had ONE job to do! ONE FUCKING JOB!_ He knows that it was true and he was mortified. _I had one task, keeping Sherlock safe for few hours and I failed._ He was immobile, waiting for the doctor to lash out at him...

"I'm so sorry Mycroft... It's my fault. I shouldn't have left him alone." John wait a minute then carry on "The important thing is that the sniper is now dead and won't be able to... reach him."

The older Holmes stares at John with amazement. "I am the one who should apologize. I encouraged you to go with DI Lestrade... I essentially guaranteed that I would be able to protect my brother... And I failed."

"Oh... Come on. Both of you! It's Sherlock's fault if he pissed someone off enough to send snipers after him." He was aiming to relax the atmosphere and it worked.

"You're right that the git doesn't need help to get shot at..." John said with a small smile. "Do we know more about who and why? 

"We will talk about this later, do you want to see Sherlock?" Mycroft proposes as he opens the room. 

John looks at Greg muttering a 'That's weird' and enters the room, alone with his friend while Lestrade and Mycroft stayed outside.

 

For the second time in the last five days, John was sitting near his friend in a hospital. "Love, you are killing me. Be more careful would you..." He was talking softly, keeping Sherlock right hand in his, barely resisting the wish to kiss the place on his wrist where he feels his pulse.  The proof that he was still alive... Alive for him. Mechanically counting the soft beat, he realizes after half an hour that Sherlock was awake when the rhythm accelerated...  He pours his gaze into Sherlock's blue green eyes before murmuring "Hey you... How are you doing? I can't let you alone few hours before you're inviting a killer in your bedroom?" _Oh God, I'm flirting! I'm as good as Greg for bad timing!_

Sherlock chuckles lightly at John's comment."I can guarantee you that I was in no _position_ to be ravished and that the whole situation on the contrary interrupted a rather... nice dream." The fact that Mary was the sniper was lost for the moment in the vapor of the pills, his eyes closing by themselves.

"Hum... About what..." John presses himself on the bed to be near Sherlock...

"I was kissing someone." A smile appears on the detective's lips as he remembers, "A wonderful, handsome, courageous..." He stops.

"Be more specific if you want your dream to become reality, love..." John teases.

"I'm not sure... Doctor or... soldier..." He licks his lips at the memory. Unable to resist anymore, John carefully put his lips on Sherlock's. Finally. For the first kiss on the lips he wants to worship till the end of their life.

It was all that he had wished for in his wildest dream... _He's accepting my kiss! Welcoming_ , he corrects, as he feels Sherlock lips open under his light but precise kisses. _Oh My God! I'm kissing Sherlock Holmes!_ All his doubt about the situation, about the obvious 'not gay' thing, disappeared. The love, the devotion and the desire taking place of any doubts. 

Opening his eyes slightly, the man mutters something.  John presses his lips one more time to Sherlock's before he asks "What? I didn't hear you love..."

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?" The detective sings, clearly affected by the meds!

"Are you singing Bohemian Rhapsody? I will ask your doctor what he gave you!" John giggles before sobering up. "Sherlock... look at me. Are you willingly and consciously wanting to... to... kiss me?" _Please say yes, please say yes..._

Watching intensely the dark gold stars in his friend's blue eyes, he tenderly erases any lingering doubt that the doctor may still have "Don't be silly John, have you ever know a situation where I don't do exactly what I want?" And he puts one hand behind John's neck to bring back the doctor where he should be. His own doubts temporarily abandoning him while he was busy touching and kissing John's body....

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * One who finds the content's of someone else's mind to be their most attractive attribute, above and before their physical characteristics.


	10. York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, still in hospital, impress everyone including the Queen!

The day that followed was hard, on everyone.  Sherlock, after doing better was fighting a fever and was delirious for too many hours for John and Mycroft's comfort.  The government man, for once at a loss for words, was acting a way that John has ever seen. He didn't leave his younger brother's side, not wanting to leave him alone as he was once again revisiting through the horrors that he suffered when away. He even accepted John's presence when the detective was calling for him in his delirious state. Furthermore, at the doctor's amazement, he acted as if John's endearments and small kisses on his brother's temple were natural and didn't comment or snarl!

As Mycroft suggested few days before, John as been able to put two and two together quickly. The scars on Sherlock's back, the way he thrashes violently in his bed, trying to escape... the supplication in his tone, the way tears were streaming from his tightly closed eyes. Everything was  testimony to the hardship that Sherlock suffered.  _He went through all this to save us... to save me. The way I treated him when he returned... How can he ever forgive me enough to love me?_  Wanting to at least be there, now that he could, John was reluctant to give up his place closest to Sherlock, but he knows that Mycroft needs it as much as he does.  After an hour, when Sherlock seemed to be more peaceful, he left the room.

After a quick visit to the loo and a coffee, John was waiting outside the room with Lestrade. Through the small window, he was gazing at an exhausted Mycroft. He was holding his brother's hand and murmuring sweet nonsense to keep the man calm, now that he was finally back to a peaceful sleep.

"I have never seen him so... caring." John says to Greg. T _his is a surprise. Agreeable, but a surprise nonetheless._   But he quickly feels guilty as he remembers Mycroft's soothing voice that seemed to help quiet his brother when he was helping Sherlock through his nightmare. 

The policeman smiles slightly. "This is not a shock for me. I've seen the real Mycroft... before. This is why I don't see him the same way. I know that he's not an Ice Man; not a cold machine." The first time he met the older Holmes, he was helping his younger brother recover from an overdose. 

John faces his friend. "You really love him, do you?" It wasn't really a question, more a statement. The DI, looking at Mycroft's tense and worried form, only nods and releases a deep sigh. John, his eyes on Sherlock, sighs as well. They both smile at the idea of the chaos that lay ahead of them.

 

That evening, John was asleep - half on a chair half on Sherlock's bed - when a loud thud wakes him. "....What? SHERLOCK!" His friend/lover,  _we must clarify the situation as soon as possible_ , was pushing everything that was on the side table (water, lamp...) onto the floor. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I need to charge up my phone, I have only 5% battery left..." He replies with a roll of his eyes. 

_Okay, that's clearly  never going to change,_  John thought with a smirk. "Give me that... you don't want to reopen your stitches a second time." Replacing everything where it had been, the doctor found an unused outlet near the bed and plugged in his phone before giving it back to Sherlock with a smile."What do you need it for, love? You must rest."

Dumbstruck by the use of the endearment, the detective freezes. O _h yes... that's right. Oh, God. Did we really..._ A faint memory of yesterday's kisses emerges rapidly and a light blush appears on his cheeks. He slowly puts a hand forward to accept the phone from John's hand and, not knowing what to do, he talks quickly not wanting to give evidence to the panicking thoughts that were spreading like fire in his mind. "I've been up for an hour or so. Checking Warwick data.... Molly's analyses haven’t given anything new. It was expected." He pauses, trying to put order to the chaos. Pushing irrelevant sentiments away....  _Later. I will think about this later_.  _And Mary. LATER!..._  "But that car! That was good... John. A shame that I wasn't there, but the forensic wasn't abysmal... And I realize that... I found... God I need to... " He was fighting the pain as well as the meds. The last hour of intensive labour taking its toll, he was suddenly exhausted and his eyes were closing on their own accord.

"Shhh, love, shush." John hands frame Sherlock face softly as he put light kisses on his eyelids. "Sleep... we'll talk later."  He took back the phone as a nurse entered the room to add more meds to the IV line. As the detective falls profoundly asleep, John opens his phone to check what was causing the detective such turmoil. Obviously, Sherlock didn't take notes and such, as it was all in his head, but the emails he sent and his browser history were clearly indicating the direction he was going in...  _Oh... Didn't see that one coming..._ He quietly left the room to search for Greg. 

 

A day later, Sherlock wakes up for good. Alone.  _Where's everybody? Isn't someone is supposed to 'fuss'? Oh! The case!_ He searches the bedside table and his phone wasn't there.  _For God's sake! How can I work like this?_ He presses the alarm repeatedly and calls loudly, "JOHHHHHHN!"

Mycroft, his composure now recovered completely, entered the room. "You called, brother mine?" 

"Not for you! Where's John? Or Gavin!" Sherlock was now trying to remove the IV, the needle that was taped to his arm stayed in place, but he was able to detach himself from the line. He pushed off the sheet and though covered only by a hospital gown he tries to stand up on his own. His brother, not saying a word, was eyeing him with a slightly worried expression, but, as his younger brother was clearly on the mend, a small smirk makes its way to his lips. Sherlock snaps. "What's so funny? Be useful and get me my clothes!" 

"Yes," He walks to the closet, "...we wouldn't want dear Doctor Watson to see the condition of your back."

A furious, "DAMN MY BACK!" was the only reply Mycroft gets before Sherlock hurls himself angrily into the bathroom with a pile of clothes. As the door was slammed noisily by an exasperated detective, John and Lestrade entered the room.  

"Doing better?" John smiles, drinking his coffee while Lestrade chuckles at what he internally called ' _The Return of the Drama Queen_.'

"Yes, it seems he decided that he's going well enough to get up." Mycroft sighs.

"Did you tell him?" Lestrade asks, looking at Mycroft with a smirk.

"I haven't had the time..." But Sherlock, who, if he was dressed wasn’t as fashionable as usual with his shirttails outside of his unzipped trousers and his sockless feet, stopped him.  

"Mycroft! I can't close my trousers or put on my socks! Call a nurse I don't want you to..." He pauses as he faces three grinning men. "Oh... you're here." He was feeling a tad ridiculous in front of John and didn’t like it.  _At all._  "Hum... Oh. Yes. I need to talk to you, Lestrade."

Slowly, Greg starts clapping, quickly followed by John. Mycroft, unable to show such cheerfulness, was looking at both men with a nearly disgusted face even if a warmth satisfaction was lurking.  _Sentiment_. Greg, giving today's newspapers to Sherlock, put a hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations mate! You're the first detective I know who solves something while being unconscious at the time in hospital!"

"You found Arnold?" Greg nods. "And Caroline Mallory?" Greg acquiesces silently again, a proud beam on his features while he was watching the detective.  Taking back the newspapers from Sherlock he spreads them on the bed. The young man, suddenly realizing the heavy weight that suddently left his shoulder, falls into a chair and looks at the various headlines.

 

> _"HOLMES FINDS THE KILLERS! YES, THERE WERE 2!"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"ARNOLD AND MALLORY: HOW THEY DID IT!"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"KILLERS OF 7 BEHIND BARS! THANKS TO SHERLOCK HOLMES!"_
> 
> _"THE QUEEN PUBLICLY THANKS SHERLOCK HOLMES AND WISHES HIM THE BEST FOR HIS RECOVERY!"_
> 
> _"SHERLOCK, UNCONSCIOUS IN A HOSPITAL FOLLOWING A FAILED ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT, IS STILL BETTER THAN SCOTLAND YARD!"_

 

The last one brings a smirk to the detective's lips.  "Sorry about that Lestrade..." He turns to the policeman who was still smiling despite the journalists’ nit picking. "How did you find out about her? I know that I'm good but..."

"And modest to a fault!" Lestrade was now laughing. "Before you passed out yesterday you were so positive that you had found something that... " He looks at John who smiles sheepishly and raises his shoulders, not looking guilty what so ever!. "John took your phone and looked at what you were working on." Sherlock turns toward John with an interrogative glance. Trying to discreetly put all the love he can into his voice, John explains how he was able to help his unconscious man. 

"You were fighting the need to sleep, mumbling over and over that you found something... When you fell back into a much-needed sleep, I searched your phone to check." He raises his hand,  "Don't look at me like that! You're always using my phone or my computer..." He pauses, waiting for a protest that never came, and continues on. "I saw that you were looking at the files of Arnold's restaurant, especially the list of employees... As the other handprint in the car was a woman's you focused on the women only." Sherlock smiles at John and motions him to go on. "One of the young women was a pupil of Arnold.'s. The daughter of a friend... I've read the email you sent to her university. She was doing a Major in Pharmacy Science when she was forced to stop because she wasn't able to support herself. Not only did she lose her job, but Arnold wasn't able to help her anymore." Looking at the headlines he had, "You had connected all the dots. The rest was easy, we found them both in York because of her cell phone, proving that she had the access to the drugs, the training to leave no traces, after a lengthy interrogation by Lestrade... A few hours later they were both in custody."

"All this from an handprint? While on morphine... It's fucking unbelievable..." Lestrade was still astonished by the recent development. "Time to celebrate!" 

The door of the room opened to let in a fuming doctor.

"What the hell are you doing out of bed Mr. Holmes! And dressed as well... DID YOU REMOVE YOUR IV?" He stepped out to call a nurse and returned a moment to force out every one out of the room, even Mycroft. Addressing Sherlock's brother, he adds "Apologies, Sir, I know that you are important, but my patients are more important. Please get out as well, he needs to rest. And you, DOCTOR Watson, I was expecting better from you!" They all left the room without protest.

Two nurses quickly remove the newspapers from the bed, put a fighting but tired Sherlock back in a hospital gown -  _I can't say that John didn't take the opportunities to check the tall man thoroughly_ \- and into his bed where they dosed him with enough meds to bring him many hours of dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter to go... An epilogue on the burgeoning romance between John and Sherlock.


	11. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally as the last chapter was becoming gargantuous, I've splitted in two! The second part is almost finish, don't worry!

Three days after they found Arnold and Mallory, Sherlock was back home. The man who escorted his transport from the hospital to 221b was helping him into his chair.  _I could have taken a cab!_ But Mycroft insisted, so they used his car with a professional in case of... Anything.  It was that or a bloody ambulance!

"You've got everything here, Mr. Holmes." The paramedic was depositing the files and a bag containing his meds and bandages on the kitchen table. "I understand that you're living with a doctor, so it shouldn't be a problem? You've stayed longer in the hospital this time..." he winks, "so everything should be healing nicely. A week or so and you'll be able to walk everywhere just as before. Thanks again sir, for catching that serial killer!" He smiles, nods at Mycroft and leaves.

 _Finally alone!_ Sherlock sighs, before remembering that Mycroft was still there. "You know, Mycroft, you don't need to babysit me..." but he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. It was Mrs. Hudson walking in with tea and biscuits.

"Ohhhh Sherlock!" She puts the tray near his chair and serves him a cup. "I was so angry when I realized that vermin who shot you was back in my house! If I had been here...!" Sherlock gives her a soft smile. "Don't laugh at me boy! I know that I'm just an old lady, but I have an iron skillet!" She kisses Sherlock's cheek and leaves the flat after a little pat on the elder Holmes' shoulder.

"She brought two cups... tea?" The detective asks in a resigned tone.

"Of course! Mrs. Hudson always makes a perfect brew." He walks closer to his brother and sits in John's chair. Looking down at the chair curiously, he asks himself the question that was the proverbial 'elephant in the room'... _Where the hell is Doctor Watson?_ Trying to bring it up as lightly as possible, Mycroft asks off-handedly as he picks off a bit of dust from his sleeve "Where's Doctor Watson?"

"It's Wednesday, he's working." He sips at his tea, not wanting to open a door to his brother. _John is simply at the surgery... The fact that I didn't tell him that I was leaving the hospital this morning is irrelevant._

"I know that he returned to work yesterday, when your situation had stabilized. But I was under the impression that he wanted to be with you when you returned home." Mycroft delicately brings the cup to his lips. _It's worse than a meeting with Putin. We are so not good at this! It's ridiculous. How 'average' people manage it is beyond me._

"Why? He missed a lot of work over the last weeks... And I don't need him right now. I'm able to stay _alone_ until the end of his shift." The emphasis on 'alone' wasn't lost for the older brother.

"I am not a specialist in...things of this nature, but I was under the impression that such comportment was expected when... people... are... how shall I put it? Together."

"Which comportment?" Sherlock protests. As his hand was shaking a little, he puts down his cup on the table. _Ohhhh biscuit!_

"He, wanted to be certain that you were well enough to go home and help set everything up because he wants you to have everything you need... And you needed him around for... comfort." _Can I order a missiles crisis? Right now?_

"Nonsense!" Thinking about what Mycroft implied before, he mumbled, "And what do you mean... 'together'?"

"Sherlock... Please do not insult my intelligence. I don't know if you two have an... understanding, but there is something more between Doctor Watson and you." Sherlock winced as he turns to take his beloved violin in his hands. He starts to play the chords, doing a superb job of ignoring his brother and falling slowly into his Mind Palace. _I would really like a phone call about North Korea right now. Never a disaster when you need one!_ He sighs and looks longingly at his phone. A message popped up, it was from Anthea. _Great! Something!_

 

Say something sir or the idiot is going to break his heart and Watson's at the same time! A

 

Stop the feed right now! It's unprofessional! MH

 

Unprofessional? Look who's talking... Sorry to say that you are clearly out of your depth sir. A

 

Sigh... Yes, I know. What should I say? MH

 

He's simply afraid that he doesn’t love him. Give him examples. Facts. He's analytical; he can understand that... But be sneaky! A

 

 _Okay, facts but sneaky. I can do that._ Matter of factly, he starts "Perhaps I was wrong... I'm sorry then. It's just that when I saw Doctor Watson holding your hand and kissing your fingers with fondness at the hospital I thought it possible that you were now a couple. My mistake." He adds tea to his cup. "Do you need more tea, brother mine?" Dazzled by Mycroft words, Sherlock was only able to nod, the gates of his Mind Palace closing with him outside.

 

Good work boss! A

 

Not wanting to acknowledge the kisses they exchange, _it was because of the stress... or something_ , Sherlock mutters, "This is silly. John... appreciates me. I think. But it's impossible that he... that he loves me for real." _God. I'm tired. I should be alone, in my bed, sleeping. Or alone, at the table, doing an experiment... Alone or with John. With John in my bed. Oh shut up!!_

 

Ask him why! Ask him why! A

 

I know, I am not an idiot! MH

 

"Why are you saying that, brother mine?  I'm certain that for your doctor to express his feelings physically in front of me, it must be pretty serious for him..." He paused for a few seconds. "As I recall now, I was even feeling like an outsider, the scene was so domestic and intimate."

 

To the jugular now! Ask him the real reason! A

 

Putting his phone in his pocket, he asked gently "Why are you so certain that his sentiment cannot be real?"

"You know why Myc. You know..." Sherlock's head was down once more as he was plucking the strings of his violin, randomly.

"Talk to me, brother mine... I'm here for you. You know that, hmm?"

Sherlock laid his violin down and buried his face in his hands. "I've done horrors, Mycroft, killed so many people... probably some innocents in the line of fire even though I took every precaution... I promise, brother!" When he looked up, his eyes were rimming with tears. "He's a soldier, a doctor... The constant in his life is to save people... from people like me." Sherlock voice was barely audible... In Mycroft's pocket, Anthea was screaming 'Hug him! Hug him for chrissake!' but the politician, for once, didn't need her. He rises and falls on his knees in front of his brother and he holds him as tightly as possible with his injury.

Looking into his brother's eyes, he simply says, "Sherlock, my brother, my friend, you are the BEST man that I have ever known and don't let anyone say otherwise." He was now also crying, the constant fear of losing him while he was away and the terror that followed the shootings finally broke through his shell. He murmurs, taking Sherlock hands in his, "Have faith in your doctor, you chose well. He's worthy of your trust... He knows more than you think, he's an intelligent and insightful man... Talk to him, he won't disappoint you..."

"Don't be so emotional, it does not suit you. Go sit on your chair, you're gone wrinkle your trouser..." was Sherlock's only gruff reply, but hope was now visible in his eyes.

They simply continue to drink tea and eat biscuits, words no longer necessary.

This is how John found them an hour later.

 

The doctor's arrival wasn't a surprise. It started with the slam of the front door, Mrs. Hudson screamed at the noise, John's loud, "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson -  honestly!" and, finally, the stomp of his feet on the stairs.

Once the door was open, John strode over to Sherlock's chair, letting him know his displeasure.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! Why did you tell me that you were leaving tomorrow morning!" John was furious. "I looked like a fucking lunatic, searching for you, worried... WHEN YOU WEREN'T AT THE HOSPITAL AT ALL!"

 _He is magnificent when he's angry..._ A now calmer Sherlock thoughts _, But now it's not the time!_ "I didn't want to upset you or make you appear a fool. I'm sorry. It's just that you just returned to the surgery yesterday and I didn't know of any stupid reason why you must be with me here this morning... So it was easier to do this instead of having an argument."

"And what do you call what are we having right now?" John raises his eyes to the ceiling, hands on hips... "I am old enough, I can decide for myself if I can skip work or not, and if I want to do something or not!" Mycroft was trying to leave discreetly... "And YOU! Why didn't you text me or ask Anthea to text me since you don't, and I quote, 'do text'?"

"I'm sorry John... I was certain that Sherlock had informed you. I was surprised that you weren't there this morning. But be certain that everything went smoothly. My brother's meds and files are on the table for you." He took up his umbrella; and looked at the detective with a warm smile. "Take care, brother mine, think about what I've said" and he departs.

Once outside, he checks his phone.  Five texts from Anthea...

 

Don't put me in your pocket! A.

 

Hug him! Hug him for chrissake! A.

 

I'm crying because of you. It was so beautiful. Good job boss. A.

 

Careful! John just turned the corner of Baker Street. He's coming directly from the hospital and he does not look happy! A.

 

Like a boss, boss! Now, can we talk about the delicious DI Lestrade? A.

 

He replies quickly before going out of the building.

 

Don't push your luck. I want to see you in my office in 15 minutes. MH

 

With a smile, Mycroft put his phone in his pocket and walk to his car, leaving his brother in the capable hands of, if he does not blow up everything, his future boyfriend.

 

 

"Is there any tea left?" An exhausted John asks after few minutes of silence.

Quietly, not wanting to produce another outburst, Sherlock answers, "No, sorry..." After a pause he added, "About the tea and... for this morning." With a smug smile he mutters,  "And Mycroft ate all the biscuits, naturally."

John chuckles softly, not wanting to fight anymore about what happened this morning, gets up and walks in direction of the kitchen. "Do you want more or you are already drowning in the stuff?"

"Yes, please. The tea at the hospital was one of those green tea abominations! I'll need liters of Earl Grey to get rid of the taste!"

"It is supposed to be healthier, but I don't have much use for it either." He puts the kettle on and sighs. Not knowing what to do next _._ Waiting for the water to boil, he was lost in the 'replay' of the kisses they exchanged few days ago... _God I didn't imagine his response? Did I? Why did he push me away this morning? I really thought that we had... something! It was my duty to be there! I'm his... friend? Doctor? Who am I kidding... I am clearly his nothing._

The last weeks opened his eyes to the feelings he has nurtured for his friend since... _the first week? The first night?_ The vision of a broken Sherlock, lost in the nightmare, fighting an imaginary enemy, the idea of letting the man he loves deal with it alone was now unbearable. Mycroft's voice resonates clearly, lighting the path he must follows. " _When you are ready... Just ask the question that you never asked him, Doctor Watson. What happened when he was away?"_ Returning to the living room with a fresh pot, John serves Sherlock then pours his own cup.

He sits in his chair, a meter away from his friend. With a soft voice, contrasting sharply with his tone when we arrived, he murmurs, "Sherlock..." The detective raises his head to meet John's gaze, "I have a something to say, If you allow me." Curious and wanting to give them a chance, even if listening to his brother was madness, Sherlock nods.  "I've realized that I have been an horrible friend... No, do not say anything, please... A few months ago a miracle arrived. My best friend, the man that I now understand I've been in love with for years, that man who was lost to me... came back. It's an understatement to say that I haven't reacted well." He chuckles, then pauses, as choosing his words with care. "I think that, even now, that many months have passed, my first reaction was legitimate and human. Yes, I was furious. Furious that you didn't bring me into your plan, furious that you didn't find a way to let me know that you were... alive." John was trying to stay calm, his tone still nearly peaceful. As if he was talking about someone else's anger. "The guts you had to interrupt the date where I was planning to ask Mary to marry me!" At those words, Sherlock looks uneasy but John didn't realize. "But... later, when I understood the reason behind the masquerade, after weeks and months... I should have let it go and embrace your return." Murmuring shyly he explains, "I should have understood that that uneasiness and anger was more towards myself than at you.  I didn't realize... the turmoil inside me was no more anger, but longing... desire...the wish to have you, to protect you. The constant fight against my bisexuality didn't help."

Sherlock, looking into John's eyes, was able to see that it was the simple truth and smile tenderly, as he was opening his mouth to talk, John raises a hand, "I have one more thing to say love... one more thing that I must tell you.  Above all, I am the worst friend because when you were in need, I abandoned you." Sherlock emits a protesting sound, "I am not talking of when you were away, it was your decision, I made peace with it and I am not blaming myself for that... But when you returned? It's all on me! I wasn't there, I didn't care, I didn't support... I left you alone to deal with what ever happened when you were away." His voice was melting under the weight of the emotions that he was finally able to express. "I, who used to always fuss for a single scratch or a fall in the Thames... I, who always pushed you to sleep and eat! I didn't give a fucking thought about what you had done for two bloody years! I didn't care about possible injuries, kidnapping, gun wounds, fights, malnutrition... tortures..."

Sherlock stops him by extending his hand till he reaches the doctor's knee "It's ok John, it's long gone now... You didn't know. It's not your fault..."

"I realized pretty quickly that it wasn't a two year sabbatical on a tropical island somewhere, I am not an imbecile. But even then, I still didn't want to know. I am so sorry Sherlock, so sorry..."

"What is done is done... You don't have to worry about me now and it wasn't that bad... I promise."

"Don't protect me... I know. Not the details of course but... I know the consequences. The nightmares, the scars..."

"You... know? Of course!" The detective let go a derisive laugh, "I am so stupid... Mycroft!" His brother's name was pronounced with disgust. Removing his hand he pushes on the arms of his chair and tries to get up, becoming frustrated when his body wasn't cooperating.

"Shush... Sherlock, love... Don't react like that. Mycroft didn't tell me, not really... I'm a doctor and an ex-soldier, if I hadn't been so blind I..." John was now up, near the detective's chair. "Do you really want, or need, to go somewhere? Wait... Let me help you..."

"I don't need your help or your pity, doctor Watson!" Sherlock says loudly. _Oh God it was too easy... I am so stupid... Guilt and pity... That's all._ "You don't need to go to that extent, it's ok, I give you the total absolution on any other imaginary sins you need..."

"What! Sherlock, no... I..." But the detective finally was able to get out of his chair and with determination, and the help of the furniture, he reaches his bedroom the pains - both physical and psychological - spreading in his body. He closes his door with a strained "I'm tired, let me sleep. I don't want to talk, anymore."

John, shocked, sits at the kitchen table, not leaving the bedroom door of his sight. _God, you really fucked up everything John, congratulations..._ How is it possible that the detective that sees everything could not read in his eyes the love and devotion? _Thinking that everything that I am doing right now is only guilt and a doctor's duty..._ Defeated, with tears in his eyes, he puts his head on the table, making sure that it was turned in the direction of Sherlock's room. _And with my ex that even don't return my call, I only want to apologize for_ _chrissake_ _!, my love life his in deep shit!_

 

In an underground office near the parliament, Anthea was screaming at the screen while her low-fat popcorn flew everywhere!

"I don't know who's stupider! Your brother or John!" She was looking at her boss with a _'What the hell - Can you believe this!_ ' face!

Mycroft, as discouraged as his assistant, was at a loss for words. "Let's hope a few hours of solitude will help them see the light..." He sighs, _why do people voluntarily subject themselves to that kind of chaos!_ The image of a beautiful silver haired man pops in his head, he blinks to push it away, as he gives Anthea a file. "Let's work on the Norway and Finland economic pact, while waiting for new developments."


	12. Home...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last...

Once the door is closed, Sherlock removes his shirt and trouser, almost crying out in pain and frustration, but finally managed to do it on his own, then sat carefully on the bed. _What a mess... How could I have been that stupid, of course this cannot be real. But at least, now I know where we stand._ As John was aware of his scars and because he was so tired, he didn't bother to put on pajamas. Still on top of the bedspread, he delicately put his head on the pillow, wrapping the other half of the comforter around him. _I hope John will forget about all this quickly, I don't want the situation to become even more awkward._ The idea of John leaving Baker Street was completely foreign to the detective; John's place was in this flat. Period. _He just needs to stop thinking at me as a project, as a bloody mission. I am not a damsel in distress!_ He closes his eyes, trying to sleep a little but wasn’t able to stop thinking. _But those kisses... You don't need to love someone to kiss them, but could the warmth have been faked? And he was... clearly interested in more._ Even though he was alone, the detective blushed thinking on how... firm... John was when his hands traveled below the doctor's waist at the hospital. _With stimulation, probably more than 80% of men can get an erection; sentiment is irrelevant to the matter. Anyway I am better alone._ The voice in his head was screaming 'Coward! Liar! Coward!' as he finally fell into a tormented slumber. 

 

"Boys?" Mrs. Hudson unusually subdued voice resonated in the quiet room. "Everyone is asleep... that's good, it's been a hard week," she mutters, as she walks into the kitchen, a casserole in her hand. She nearly drops it when she found John sleeping at the dinner table! "John! Dear... what are you doing there? You're going to wreck your neck and back... You are not a young man anymore."

"Hmmm... Hudders?" John raises his head, passing his hands in his hair.

"Don't call me that, John, you're a doctor; you must talk like a proper grown up." She puts the dish in the fridge, "Sherlock needs good simple food... there, now you won't have to cook for the next few meals." Turning back to the table, she finally looks at John carefully, seeing his red eyes for the first time. "Is everything ok? Oh no! Don't tell me Sherlock has taken a turn for the worse! He was looking so well this morning!"

"No, no, don't worry. He's only sleeping... I think..." He looks at his watch; it's been 4 hours since Sherlock closed the door on him. _On his love, on the possibility of a relationship..._

"Go check on him quickly, I'll fix some tea." The old lady walks to the countertop where she puts the kettle on and automatically begins to wash the mugs and cups.

Eying the bedroom door anxiously, John opens it slowly.  _ He's in bed, not on the floor. Good.  _ The detective's respiration was regular but a bit labored, as expected in a recovering man. John carefully opens the blanket to see if the abdominal wound needed dressing.  _ Everything is fine; the gauze is still clean, great.  _ Smiling at how Sherlock had folded himself into bed, he replaces the comforter on his friend. His belly summersaulted when Sherlock suddenly mumbled in his sleep... As he didn't understand he instinctively moved closer to the man, his hand in his beautiful curly hair. "What did you say... I didn't hear you love..." The term of endearment, even after everything Sherlock had said to him earlier, flows easily.  _ He can't take that away from me.  _

"Coward... I am not a coward... No... not a coward." The tall man murmurs before falling asleep again.

"I know, honey, you're the bravest man that I know." After a small kiss on Sherlock's forehead, he leaves the room.

The tea was ready on the table, and Mrs. Hudson pours out. "Is everything all right, John? How does the poor boy fair?"

_ Clearly not a 'boy' _ ... John thought before he responds "He's sleeping as peacefully as possible, which is great, especially for Sherlock! Otherwise, everything should be back to normal in a week or two." He drinks the tea silently, thinking about Sherlock, until Mrs. Hudson's babbling breaks into his thoughts.

"... and to think that... that  _ bitch _ came here to kill him! In MY house!" The poor woman looked personally offended, even if she should be use to the violence by now! "And what kind of woman does that sort of job... My late husband was a bastard and a criminal, but he would have never asked a woman to kill someone! A small cute blond, he would have slept with her, not hire her!... He had some principles!" 

"What did you just say?" John was now giving all his attention to Mrs. Hudson.

"About the sniper? I don't mean that cute girls can't kill if they want to, I am as feminist as anybody, but I don't understand the world anymore." 

She was talking mindlessly, not realizing that John was now dangerously still.  _ No, it can be... A small cute blond... There are thousands of small cute blond in London. But I chose her! So she must have been as fucked up as everyone around me!  _ "Care to elaborate? The info about the sniper didn't leak, how can you know what he, or she, looked like?" 

"Oh? Easy... As you may remember, at was at my sister house near Turnbridge when it happened. But Mrs. Turner was in her house and she heard the commotion in your flat, so she went to her front window and waited. A f ew minutes later, after Sherlock left in ambulance, a black small truck came and she saw a small woman with short blond hair... All dressed in black... On a stretcher." She took a few sips of her tea. "They should have used a body bag like in the movies if it's such a secret." She rises, put a hand on John's shoulder before leaving, "Don't forget to take care of you, John, Sherlock won't admit it but he needs you."

Once the door of the flat was closed, John took out his phone.

 

Care to explain. JW

What? Please be more specific Dr. Watson. MH

I know that you listen to everything that happens in this flat, don't try my patience Mycroft. JW

I presume you're talking about what Mrs. Hudson was deliriously talking about? MH

Yes. JW

Then, as you must already realize, the sniper was the woman known as Mary Morstan. MH   


And for what unknown reason have I not been informed of that detail? JW

My brother, when he was at the hospital, asked me to let him talk to you about this. Something about sentiment and not wanting to hurt you. It's clearly didn't work if you want my opinion. MH

No. I don't want your opinion! Just tell me why. As succinctly as possible. JW

Moriarty. MH

Anything I can help you with Dr. Watson? MH

Yes. Get out of my life! JW

He closes his phone and tries to compute the idea that Mary, the blond-cute-Mary-had-a-little-lamb-look-alike that he dated for months, is dead. Mary, John's  ex-girlfriend slash Moriarty's sniper, is dead.  It was a strange feeling, more evidence that the move he was trying right now was the right one as Mary clearly wasn't for him! That Sherlock sacrifices were real, a sniper was clearly watching them waiting for a possible return of the detective... He wasn't sad  _ per say _ about the fact that his relationship with the woman was a lie.  _ Any relationship since I met Sherlock were lies anyway... No one was ever able to outshine him... His place in my life. No one ever will. _

_ No one ever will... _

The definitive sound of that statement should have scared John senseless but it didn't. He was serene, knowing that the only outcome possible was them being together. The lyric from a song he likes passes thru his mind _... I'm motivated by the lack of doubt* _ ...  _ The message is clear, I must not discourage myself. We are made for each other and I'm not going anywhere. It's bound to happen, no need to worry, just a question for the git to realize it.  _

_ _

Small noises were now coming from the bedroom. Rising, John knocks softly... "Sherlock? Can I help you with something, it's time for your med you must be in pain."  _ Oh God... I can't talk like that. _ .. He tries again, but with a smug tone this time, not wanting to give credit to anything the detective said earlier! "Love, honey, darling... time to take your meds. I personally don't care but as I would like to snog you hard later and I don't want you to faint on me..." 

The door opened to a disheveled Sherlock, wrapped in the bedspread and clearly in pain, but with a small smile. "Don't be stupid John, I am not the fainting type."

"Love, you fainted twice in the last week..." John smirks.

With a frown, the detective replies, "I was shot, I think fainting can be justified when one is nearly dying." 

"Maybe... but I don't want to witness that ever again, love, so we must be careful..." The doctor was looking directly in Sherlock's eyes, feeling wonderful at the idea that he finally allows himself to do so. He shakes two pills into his hand and grabs a glass of water then brings them to the impossible man.

Sherlock accepts the pills and swallow them down. "You don't need to call me... that." 

Not wanting to stop until he wins Sherlock over, John continues. "What are you talking about, my love?"

"You know... That." The detective was clearly out of depth for once. 

"My love, you must say it!"

"... Love! Are you happy! You don't have to call me love!" Sherlock exasperation was rising!

"I will say it as long as needed, my dear love..." Not wanting Sherlock to get tired, he helps him to his chair.

"As long as needed for what?" _Oh God, I don't understand and I am still so tired..._

"For you to believe me, love, your choice" His tender smile turns devious, "I'm seeing no problem of calling you 'love' in front of... everyone, my love."

At that word Sherlock protests, "Everyone? Even Lestrade! You're certainly joking!"

"Nope... Come on Sherlock my love... give in."

With a weary sigh, the man of John's dream asks, "Why does it matter so much to you?"

Kneeling in front of his friend, John put their hands together. "Because I want you to know that you are loved and that you are worthy of all the love that I can give." With a grin he adds,  "And I've been unconsciously pining for you for years so I've got tons... of love." John heavy tone was suggestive, it was clear even for the younger man.

Unable to restrain himself, Sherlock chuckles at the cheesiness before becoming serious again "But... Are you really sure that we can do that? And that I... deserve this? "

"You deserve this and more... You are worthy of everything you want to receive. And of course we can do that! Together we can do what ever we want, love! You and me against the world, remember?" He pauses and summons the sexiest smile he has before slowly reaching for Sherlock lips... Giving plenty of time for the man to say no.

 

 

"Oh!!!! Mycrooooooft! They are kissing! They are kissing!" Anthea was screaming in the secret compound.

A not so perfectly calm government official runs to the screen. "Oh.... You're right. I think they finally come to an... understanding." He turns his face from the image, clearly not wanting to invade the men's privacy. "Close the feeds Anthea."

"But boss! I just want to watch a tiny bit..."

"Anthea. Now. Put the camera on the automatic, they won't start if not needed, and go to work!"

"Ok... I will... spoil sport." After a pause she asks with innocent eyes, "Can we talk about this silver fox DI of yours now?"

"Anthea! WORK!"

The woman left the room laughing; her phone already in her hand she went back to work as requested, with a lighter spring in her step.

  


Putting his head down, Sherlock accepts the kiss reverently. It was his turn to finally succumbs to the inevitable... That he loved and was loved by John. Not letting the ache in his torso and arm stopping him, he tried to move closer to the doctor but was unable to not wince at the pain. "Love... Oh I'm so sorry... Come with me, I will take care of you."

Accepting now that caring is only another word for love; Sherlock - still clad in his bed blanket - lets John help him into the sofa. Once he was certain that the detective was more comfortable, John sits near him to continue their mutual exploration. It was so intimate, so perfect... Even if the condition of the younger man won't let them go far, John decided to give all that he can to impress his love on Sherlock for good. To remove any residual doubts that the man may still have unconsciously. They were now slowly but heatedly exploring each other.  _ It is glorious _ , John thought, slowly losing the battle of going slow for his friend's sake! One of his hands was positioned on the back of Sherlock's neck while the other was exploring the expanse of skin under the layer of soft cotton until his hand brushes against silk pants...

"Fuck... John!" Sherlock stammers, his head falling back on the sofa. Considering that encouragement, John didn't stop the path of his hand while he was still kissing his lover thoroughly, "God, that's sexy... I've never heard you say 'fuck'... It gives me ideas but maybe not right now..." 

"Don't be silly...I am swearing in my head... all the time..." His eyes closes, the detective was unable to speak more. His body embracing John's attention with his entire Mind. The feelings, the sensations... John's actions... They where all going right away in a new room in his Mind Palace for future analysis. Right now, Sherlock didn't want to think, only feel. 

The expanse of the detective alabaster neck was too tempting to resist and John's mouth falls down to spread kisses everywhere. Resisting with difficulty the idea of leaving marks for everyone to see.  _ Mine... At last... Mine... _ "Oh God... Sherlock, you are magnificent." He puts his nose under his chin, the sent, a mix of the posh man's hair  product, gunpowder and tea, was bringing him near a breaking point. 

He pushes the bedspread slowly; let it go in a puddle on the sofa. The doctor's hands, now unobstructed, were free to roam the slight but muscular body. As John delicately but without hesitation put his hand under the band of Sherlock's pants, a faint scream escaped his lips but was quickly covered by John's delicious lips. "I've got you honey, let me..." As his other hand dropped from the neck to his back, Sherlock froze.

"No... don't touch... It's horrible." Sherlock was trying to hide his scars completely with the back of the sofa.

"No... they are a part of you, but do not define who you are." He took one of the violinist’s hands and put it on his own scar. "My scar is precious, it's the one thing that brought me back home, that allowed me to meet you... Without it we are nothing." He pauses, looking at Sherlock's eyes. "Does it disgust you?"

"Of course not... It a proof of your bravery, of what you’ve suffered for  your country, for the one you love. You must be proud of it." The detective replies with force.

With a soft confident smile, the ex-soldier simply states. "Ditto." 

"It's not the same... I've done horrible things and those scars are a punishment for it... John" His voice breaks, "I am not worthy of you..."

"Don't say that... We all have scars that we must deal with. Either on our skin or in our mind... Let me help you, love, let me help you to find sleep without horrible dreams... life without doubt..." John kisses the man tenderly and, taking up the blanket, he covers them both and feels Sherlock fall asleep in his arms, succumbing to meds, emotions and exhaustion.

In his arms, a place where, as long as John lives, Sherlock will be able to sleep without any nightmares... 

**Author's Note:**

> ** Thanks to those who stick around till the end :-) And left a kudos so I know that you didn't left in the middle lol
> 
> ** What did you think of the case portion of the fic, it was believable? Please do not hesitate to comment, this his important to help us becoming better! 
> 
>  
> 
> *"I'm motivated by the lack of doubt' / Red Hot Chili Peppers - Wet Sand


End file.
